


Pas De Deux

by ddpoweredbycoffee



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: But there is smut ; ), Dirty Dancing, Excessive use of T'hy'la, Excessive use of canon Original Star Trek quotes, Excessive use of quotes from popular love stories, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, I'm Sorry, I'm so sorry, Implied/Referenced Abortion, It's just excessive, M/M, Not graphic but like I said it is influenced by Dirty Dancing, Please read and enjoy, Porn with Feelings, Slow Burn, Slow-ish burn, Smut, Well it's influenced by Dirty Dancing anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 17:18:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 38,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11362005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddpoweredbycoffee/pseuds/ddpoweredbycoffee
Summary: Spock and his parents come to the Belaar Summer Resort to conduct negotiations for a marriage arrangement to T'Pring.But summer is a magical time, and when a certain golden-haried, bright-eyed captain literally dances into his life, nothing about Spock will ever be the same...





	1. Chapter 1

Spock steps off the space shuttle and breathes in the crisp air still damp with morning dew. After eight days of travel, it is refreshing to breathe air that did not first have to be filtered and deodorized. His boots land softly on smooth stone, and he follows his father and his mother already making their way down the pathway. 

“Ambassador Sarek and Lady Amanda, welcome! Welcome!” A large man greets them at the entrance of the resort. 

He’s wrapped in a ridiculous uniform of royal blue velvet and gold epaulettes very similar to those worn my the Terran French military in the 19th century. A bushy mustache curls up at the ends on his sweaty face, and a small gold hoop dangles from his ear. Spock resists the urge to wrinkle his nose in disgust at his cloyingly sweet tone. The man attempts and fails to give the Ta’al. 

“I am Leo Walsh, the owner of this fine establishment,” he explains. “We are honored to have you stay with us at the Belaar Resort, Ambassador.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Walsh,” Sarek, his father, answers flatly and his mother gives him a polite nod. 

“And this must be your son, Spock.” 

The man smiles at him like a reptile basking in the sun. Spock narrows his eyes. Boredom drove him to investigate the background of their questionable host during their flight. 

“Leo Walsh? Public records indicate that your name is Harcourt Fenton Mudd and that you have been arrested for smuggling stolen goods and purchasing space crafts with counterfeit currency,” he recites steadily. 

“Spock!” his mother hisses. 

The man’s jaw drops for a moment before he manages to recover himself, his face turning a dark shade of red. 

“Well, your records should also indicate that those charges were dropped. False accusations and all that,” he says, seething just beneath the surface. 

Spock suppresses his triumphant grin. 

“Come, let me show you to your quarters.” 

           

 _Muria; moon known for its temperate climate and alleged restorative properties orbiting the Class-J planet, Fasmoria, of the Beta Quadrant_. Spock looks up through his window at the gas-giant filling a vast majority of the sky with its magenta glow despite the bright afternoon sun. The resort itself overlooks a large lake outlined by a wooden boardwalk. His room is quite spacious for one occupant with a large bed, a separate seating area, and lofty windows to allow the plentiful sunshine. The grounds below his room twist and curl around lush flower gardens and tall, sturdy trees with leaves swaying softly in the lulling breeze. It is nothing like the red and orange sands in the arid desert of Vulcan, and he admits that it would be a pleasing experience if he were here under alternative circumstances. 

Spock tugs at the front of his maroon formal robes, disliking the scratch of stiff fabric on his skin. He checks the clock. His parents must be expecting him in the ballroom downstairs by now. His stomach turns unpleasantly at the thought of joining the welcoming reception. Director Solen will be in attendance, a man he truly has no interest whatsoever in meeting, but must. He drapes a gold, omega chain necklace around his neck weighed down by a large, blood red pendant with the S'chn T'gai ancestral symbol. The gaudy adornment only adds heaviness to his already suffocating robes and presses uncomfortably into his clavicle. He glances in the mirror and brushes lightly at his blue eye shadow with the tip of his finger. He then sighs and turns for the door. He halts at the man waiting outside. 

“Mr. Spock, my name is Kevin Riley; I am to escort you to the welcoming reception.” 

Spock frowns at him and slips by in long strides. 

“It is unfortunate you made the trip up here, Mr. Riley,” he says, the man following close behind him. “Your services are quite unnecessary. I am capable of locating the ballroom on my own.” 

That was a complete overestimation of his abilities. Though his sense of direction has never been an issue in the past, he simply overlooked the fact that a resort run by humans closely imitates the illogical layout of structures on Earth. One must think like a human, he supposes, in order to navigate their irrational mazes. 

Riley leads him down a wide corridor and soon it fills with a chorus of voices and soft music. The ballroom itself is packed with guests of varying origins in addition to the large gathering of Vulcans. He follows Riley through the sea of bodies, shielding his mind from the onslaught of conversations and physical grazes as he passes. He finally spots his mother and his father talking to a tall, intimidating Vulcan in formal black robes. Amanda gives him a bright smile when he reaches them. 

“Thank you, Mr. Riley,” Spock says, and the man answers with a polite nod before standing at attention nearby. 

“Hello, my son,” Amanda beams and touches the pad of her forefinger to his. “You look so handsome.” 

“Mother.” 

“Spock,” Sarek greets him impassively. “This is Director Solen of the Vulcan Science Academy. Director Solen, this is my son, Spock.” 

The aforementioned man turns to him, inspecting him up and down with an arched eyebrow. 

“I see the accounts of your son have proven to be accurate, Serek,” he compliments flatly. “And from what I have heard of his research, he has grown in to quite a remarkable Vulcan despite his heritage.” 

A fire flares within Spock at his words, especially in the presence of his mother, but he quickly reins in the emotion. His face is a perfect picture of neutrality. 

“Director Solen, it is an honor to finally meet you,” he states calmly with a bow. “I am optimistic that the negotiations will proceed swiftly and produce a satisfactory result for both families.” 

Director Solen gives him a slight nod, his face stern. 

“It is my desire as well, Mr. Spock. We shall see what this summer entails.” 

Truthfully, Spock dislikes the idea of marriage negotiations, especially due to the fact that he is not allowed to interfere in any way. He is not even permitted to be present as his life is decided for him. As the family of the female, however, it is their right to evoke. When he had been bonded to T’Pring, Solen was just starting in his new role as director of the Vulcan Science Academy. As time passed, his prestige and standing in Vulcan society grew in the course of his duties, and he is now in need of an apprentice to fill the position after his retirement. He has more to bargain with now that it is appropriate to do so. 

There is also the small matter of the prophecy he received at his birth from the high priestess, T’Lar. According to it, he is to be the teacher of the next generation of Vulcans, leading them into a bright and prosperous future. Spock finds it utterly ridiculous, not to mention completely illogical, to believe in such things, but unfortunately, his father took the prediction to heart. In his interpretation, it means he must finalize his bond with T’Pring and become her father’s apprentice. 

Spock refuses the tray of lime green drinks offered to him by a server. He scans the crowd of dancing couples indifferently, wondering how much longer he must wait until it is acceptable for him to leave. Normally his mental shields are incredibly strong, but he finds he is having difficulty keeping them reinforced. The song ends with an enthusiastic applause from the crowd, and the band begins to play something new. 

Spock notices an incredibly beautiful young human woman make her way to the center of the ballroom. He recognizes her as the first officer aboard their transport vessel—Commander Uhura. She insisted he call her by her first name, Nyota, during his first round of the Terran card game “poker”. Though she did tend to talk much during a game he surmised to be of mystery and deceit, she was exceedingly friendly, and he grew to enjoy her company—though he did lose a gold ring to her in their third round. 

She’s wrapped in an elegant white lace dress that flares out from her curved waistline. The guests around her continue dancing, oblivious to her presence. He watches as she glances over her shoulder at someone in the crowd. He follows her line of sight, and his jaw nearly drops. 

A man with the most illustrious golden eyes emerges from the line of dancers. The lime green top he’s wearing clings tightly to his solid body, outlining the impressive curves of his muscles and nicely complimenting his sun-kissed skin. His caramel hair is swept back away from his face, but a few stray locks curl down onto his forehead. The man smiles at Uhura as he approaches. He takes her hand. He spins her into his arms and out again, and their movements lock in sync as they begin to glide on the floor. The crowd around them stops to watch in awe, whispering excitedly and gasping when he dips Uhura low to the ground before pulling her back to his chest. 

Spock stares, totally mesmerized. He tells himself it is because of their remarkable display of athleticism, but his eyes keep drifting back to the man who shines like gold. Something strange tickles in the back of his mind like déjà vu, but he is absolutely certain he would never have forgotten such a treasure. 

“They are absolutely breathtaking!” his mother murmurs. 

Spock manages to tear his eyes away to find Riley next to him. 

“Whom is that man dancing with Commander Uhura?” he asks, his gaze already wandering back. 

Riley smirks at him. 

“That is Captain James T. Kirk of the Hermes, Mr. Spock,” he replies happily. 

Spock snaps his attention back to him, his eyebrow arched. 

“The captain of our transport vessel?” he questions. “Why is he dancing?” 

“His ship transports the season-long VIP guests. For the rest of the season, he’s here to keep the guests happy.” 

“Fascinating.” 

His mother giggles excitedly when Uhura kicks her leg straight up into the air and places her heel on the captain’s shoulder. His hand trails down her calf to her thigh. He nuzzles his face on the inside of her ankle, making her laugh, before gliding backwards, pulling her with him across the floor. Her leg drops, and he spins her away once more. His eyes then land on him in the crowd. 

The captain’s supple pink lips part in surprise, his golden eyes wide. Spock’s heart flutters against his ribcage, and his mind ceases all thought. It’s like he’s under a spell he can’t break—one he doesn’t want to break. The captain tilts his head and narrows his gaze as if struggling to remember something. 

Uhura spins back to him, stealing away his attention, and they swirl together across the floor. But the captain keeps his eyes on him as they move, twisting his head around to do so. When only moments ago he was slightly chilled, Spock is shocked at the growing heat beneath his robes. He must be looking at something else—someone other than he caught his eye. Yet those golden eyes stay locked on him as if his life depends on it. 

The song ends with a deafening applause from the crowd, an angry Harry Mudd among them. He runs his hand across his neck frantically, and Uhura and the captain nod their acknowledgement. They take their bows with bright smiles. The captain glances at Spock and leans down to whisper something in his first officer’s ear. She steals a brief glimpse and smiles wider, subtly motioning towards him with her head. 

Spock’s heart seems to skip a beat—or two—when the captain straightens his top purposefully and walks toward him, his gaze determined. His heart races faster with each step he takes and blood roars in his ears. A drop of sweat trickles down his spine. The captain’s mouth opens as if to say something as he nears, but he is unfortunately interrupted by his father’s voice. 

“Impressive performance, Captain,” he compliments. 

“You were absolutely magnificent!” his mother gushes. “Absolutely magnificent!” 

“Ambassador Sarek and Lady Amanda, you are too kind,” the captain replies graciously, his voice like warm honey; Spock suppresses the sigh in his throat. 

His father then proceeds to introduce him to Director Solen, who also praises his talents. Spock swallows when he turns to him. 

“And this is my son, Spock.” 

The captain’s eyes glimmer brightly, his beautifully shaped lips pulling into a soft smile. 

“Mr. Spock,” he murmurs, and Spock catches him stealing a quick glance at his mouth. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“I assure you, Captain, the pleasure is all mine.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, which earns him an arched eyebrow from his father. 

“Are you by chance related to Captain George Samuel Kirk of Starfleet?” Director Solen inquires, granting Spock a moment of respite. 

“Yes, sir, he is my father,” the captain answers. 

“Well! Your father is quite renowned in the galaxy, Captain Kirk; his tales of bravery are well known even on Vulcan,” the director declares, then adds, “Why are you here? Have you ever considered following in his foot-steps?” 

Spock detects the clench in the captain’s jaw although the action is so subtle the casual observer would miss it. 

“Yes, I did consider it, director…but then I decided not to,” he replies with a tense smile. “If you’ll excuse me, Ambassador, Lady Amanda. Please enjoy your stay.” 

The director raises his eyebrows at his clipped answer, and Spock stifles a grin. The captain ignores it, choosing instead to turn to Spock. 

“Mr. Spock,” he nods with a smile. “I hope we will meet again.” 

“Indeed, Captain.” 

Spock startles when he sneaks a quick wink before turning away, and he stares at the spot where he disappears into the crowd. 

_Fascinating_.


	2. Chapter 2

Kirk turns the page of his book, relishing the peaceful sounds of the wind in the leaves and the birds chirping. Sounds like these are non-existent on a transport vessel, and he vows to soak up as much of it as humanly possible before the summer is through. 

_While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the door-bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in the evening, and might now come to inquire particularly after her. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. In an hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:_

_"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."_

Kirk sinks deeper into his armchair, his legs over one arm with his back against the other. The sunshine filters into the sunroom through the large panes of glass to the multitude of plants spread throughout the space. The delicate scent of orchids tickles at his nose, and the earthy, fresh flavor of green, living flora brushes his tongue. Gentle steam rises from his chamomile tea. He turns another page.

His ears perk up at the soft swoosh of the door opening behind him.

“Oh, pardon my intrusion,” comes a deep voice. “I did not realize anyone was in here.”

Kirk swings his legs down to the floor and looks up to greet his visitor. His heart flutters excitedly in his chest.

“Mr. Spock, what a pleasant surprise!”

He places his book on the glass coffee table, grinning brightly at the man. Spock tugs at his fitted long-sleeved top in a way that could easily be mistaken for nervousness. Kirk notes that the high cobalt collar highlights the color dusted above his dark eyes.

“I was told this room is rarely in use, Captain,” he offers in explanation.

“Yes, and it’s a shame, really; this room is gorgeous in the early afternoons, and around this time of the year the jasmine is just beginning to bloom,” he points to the small white flowers against the far glass wall. “Guests tend to gravitate toward the spas, I guess.”

“I am here, however.”

“So you are.”

A short pause, then Spock turns to the door.

“Forgive my trespass.”

“Mr. Spock, please!”

The shout comes before Kirk has a chance to restrain himself. The Vulcan brings his eyes to him in question, and he looks around hurriedly, searching for some excuse to have him stay. He spots the chess set resting on the decorative chest below the window.

“Do you play chess, Mr. Spock?” he inquires, hopeful.

Spock considers him with his gaze, betraying nothing regarding his thoughts. Finally he answers:

“Affirmative.”

“Fantastic! Would you care to play a round? It has been a while since I’ve played,” Kirk proposes.

Another pause, and Spock moves deeper into the room.

“It is preferable to wandering about alone for another afternoon,” he confesses and sits in the chair opposite his.

Kirk hops up to retrieve the chess set and carefully assembles it on the coffee table.

“Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Spock? Tea, perhaps?” he inquires once finished.

Spock stares at him with something peculiar swirling in his dark eyes.

“Yes, tea, please. Vulcan spice.”

Kirk walks to the replicator in the corner in a daze and orders the drink. He’s a little surprised when the unit produces a small white teacup and saucer filled with the amber liquid. Now that he knows of its existence—and availability—he’ll have to sample it sometime. He returns with the tea, basking in the spicy cinnamon scent steaming up from its surface. He leans down, holding it with both hands in offering. Spock slowly grasps the delicate porcelain in his long elegant fingers.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“You’re welcome.”

Kirk’s heart is nearly in his throat as he takes his seat, the Vulcan watching him curiously.

“As you are my charitable guest, Mr. Spock, you may go first.”

Spock leans forward from the edge of his seat, contemplating his first crucial move. He selects a pawn and carries it forward one space. Kirk moves a piece of his own, deflecting back to his opponent. Another move, and he breaks the short silence.

“So, what are you back on Vulcan, Mr. Spock?” he asks casually, taking his turn.

Spock glances at him through the board.

“I am a Vulcan, just as I am here.”

Kirk’s cheeks flush.

“No, I mean, what is your occupation?” he clarifies.

Spock takes his knight.

“I am currently conducting research with the Vulcan Science Academy on geological analysis,” he tells him simply. “I have design plans that will increase the accuracy of geological surveys conducted by Starfleet starships during their exploratory missions to unknown planets.”

“How does it work?” Kirk suppresses his glee when he takes out Spock’s bishop.

Spock huffs, a subtle action that wouldn’t be seen by most. Kirk feels a smile tugging at his lips. The Vulcan dives into a lengthy explanation of his design for starship scanners between sips of tea as they continue their game. Kirk’s eyes glimmer in wonder as he concludes.

“That’s extraordinary!” he exclaims. “I had no idea I was in the presence of such an incredible mind.”

Spock’s ears lift with his unseen smile, and his dark eyes glitter pleasantly. Eager to keep the conversation going, Kirk continues:

“What do you do when you’re not revolutionizing technology, Mr. Spock?”

“Specify.”

“Do you have any hobbies?” He glances down at his book. “What stories do you enjoy reading?”

Spock hesitates a moment, taking his time to consider his next move.

“I do not read for enjoyment, Captain, I read in order to acquire knowledge,” he replies firmly.

“Of course.”

The Vulcan glances at him, and something interesting flickers in his eyes.

“I am unusually drawn to the works of the Terran masters of Ancient Greece, especially those of Archimedes.”   

He takes his turn, then adds:

“Do you always besiege your guests with questions, Captain?”

Kirk smiles sheepishly.

“I apologize for my pestering,” he murmurs. “It’s just that I have worked here for nearly three years now, and I’ve never had the pleasure of a conversation with a Vulcan.”

Kirk could have sworn a blush brushes over his pale green cheeks.

“And your employment before?” Spock asks quickly.

Kirk shrugs.

“I bounced around to a lot of places after graduating from Starfleet, but the most conventional job I held was teaching dance at the University of Betazed.”        

Spock gives him the most endearing arch of his eyebrow.

“How did you become interested in dance, Captain?”

Kirk moves another piece before answering.

“I decided to pursue it after realizing I had a talent for it during my time at the Academy.”

“I was not aware Starfleet taught dance to its students.”

“It doesn’t; I met Nyota during my first year, and she wrangled me in to it. After graduation, we went separate ways for a few years before we met up again in Bajor. We started dancing together there and, well, we were pretty good at it. Bajorans loved us, and we essentially became celebrities.”

Spock removes his last pawn. Kirk bites at the corner of his mouth.

“That seems to be an agreeable situation”

“Yes, it certainly paid very well.”

“Why did you leave?”

Kirk glances away, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I…don’t know. It just didn’t feel…right,” he utters thoughtfully, his mind in another place. “It’s the same reason I turned down the ensign position offered to me upon graduation. It didn’t seem…what I was meant to do…”

Kirk’s gaze refocuses on the game in front of him. Spock watches him intently, his dark eyes glimmering in the afternoon sunshine. His attention is only interrupted when Kirk takes his castle. He smiles at the flash of irritation on his face.

“Anyway, that’s me; what about you?” he inquires, shifting in his armchair. “Are you here on vacation?

“On my planet, to rest is to rest, to cease using energy. To me, it is quite illogical to run up and down on green grass in places such as this using energy instead of saving it.”

Kirk smirks.

“So that’s a no.”

“No; as we speak, my father is negotiating with Director Solen so that I will be permitted to marry his daughter.”

Kirk sputters his tea and a few drops drip down his chin. His heart plummets into his stomach.

“Oh…”

The disappointment slices through him, stinging with the embarrassment of his behavior. He quickly recovers, however, and sets his face into casual interest.

“Congratulations, Mr. Spock; what is she like?”

Spock moves his piece and glances at him, eyebrow arched.

“Specify.”

“Your bride-to-be.”

The air chills around them, and Kirk instantly wishes he could withdraw his prying question. Silently, Spock watches him move his knight and then says: “Actually, I know nothing of her.”

Kirk remains silent, unsure how to respond. A question tickles at the back of his mind, sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he contains himself. He senses he’s already taken a step too far.

“How do Vulcans choose their mates? Haven’t you wondered?” Spock inquires bluntly.

Shifting in his seat, Kirk clears his throat.

“I guess I just assumed that it's done quite…logically.”

Spock’s face darkens, his eyes hollow. There’s an uptick in Kirk’s heart rate.

“No. No. It is not,” he states, his tone lethal. “We shield it with ritual and customs shrouded in antiquity. You humans have no conception.”

The Vulcan’s eyes flutter closed as his chest expands in a long inhale and then lowers slowly with his exhale.

“My apologies, Captain,” he says quietly, his voice steady.

“Don’t mention it.”

Kirk gives him a soft smile when his dark eyes glance up to him. Their gazes lock for a moment, and the air around them seems to crackle with electricity. Kirk is the first to look away, breaking the spell.

“Perhaps questions should be put to a rest for now,” Spock advises, making him look up at his subtle cheerful lilt. “Your mind is not on the game, Captain.”

He transfers his knight.

“Check.”

Kirk searches the board, debating his next move. He shifts his bishop to intercept. Spock’s eyes flicker to him, a smile pulling faintly at the corner of his mouth.

“And again,” he moves his knight once more. “Check.”

 _Perfect_. Kirk scans the board, mostly for show before moving his bishop one last time.

“Checkmate.”

Kirk suppresses the laugh bubbling in his throat as Spock’s eyebrows scrunch together, staring at the board as if replaying the moves in his head. His eyes then widen in surprise.

“Fascinating.”

“Hmm?”

“Your illogical approach to chess does seem to have its advantages, Captain.”

Kirk smiles.

“I prefer to call it inspired,” he counters playfully. “Another?”

“Absolutely.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What’s happening?”

Kirk glances up from his seat at the end of the couch. Janice strides over in her lounge shorts and t-shirt with a towel wrapped tightly around her head. She plops down on the chaise of the sectional.

“Mr. Bingley just proposed,” he informs her.

“Oooooo!” she giggles, kicking her fuzzy pink slippers excitedly. “Did she say yes?”

“She said yes.”

Janice buries her face in the pillow on the couch and squeals. Kirk chuckles.

“Thank gods! I was getting pretty worried there for a bit,” she utters breathlessly. “Did you spend your day off in the sunroom again?”

“Yeah.”

She pulls up a laser pad from the ottoman. She switches it on, activating the aqua glow of the laser, and begins scrolling. She stops on a fashion magazine with a chic Trill model on the cover.

“Did you have any visitors?”

Kirk narrows his eyes at her.

“…Is there something you would like to say, Janice?”

Janice unravels the towel on her head and drapes it over her shoulders, letting her damp blond strands breathe in the cool night air.

“No, not really,” she replies coyly, twisting a lock around her finger. “Just Nyota said that the cute Vulcan boy from the welcoming reception was asking for a place to enjoy some tea…”

Kirk’s mouth presses into a hard line.

“Nyota,” he curses, then adds, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”

Janice props her head up on her elbow.

“And?”

“And we played chess,” he answers before shooting her a pointed look. “And he’s getting married.”

“Married?! To who?”

“Director Solen’s daughter, apparently. That’s why they’re all meeting here.”

Janice stares at him, confused.

“Do you know how Vulcans choose their mates, Janice?”

“Logically, probably.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Were you right?”

“I…don’t think so.”

Janice glares at her magazine.

“That’s too bad; he’s quite the catch.”

Kirk glances down.

“Yeah,” he replies distantly.

He then looks around the room, sensing a missing piece in this puzzle.

“Where is Nyota? She’s usually off by now, isn’t she?” he asks.

Janice grins wide.

“Nyota is on a hot date tonight,” she reports, waggling her eyebrows. “She refuses to tell me who it is, but she was pretty excited about it. She told me not to wait up.”

“Oh, boy.”

With a chuckle, Kirk returns to his book as Janice turns the page of her magazine, and they read in companionable silence. It’s what he likes most about Janice. As chatty and outgoing as she is, she was always respectful of his preference to be alone, although she did manage to convince him to venture out of his quarters to read with her in the evenings a while back. She has never given him cause to regret his decision to do so, and if he were to be truthful with himself, he quite enjoyed it. She just knew he needed a little push—must be the reason they became quick friends.

He’s not sure how much time has passed, but Kirk’s eyelids begin to droop and the words on the page blur together into a black blob. His head shoots up, however, when a shout bursts forth from the front door.

“Toads! Toads, the whole lot of them!”

Uhura stomps into the room, her hair slightly disheveled, a strap of her frilly burnt orange dress hanging off her shoulder, and her high heels in hand.

“Nyota, are you alright?” Kirk demands, leaning forward in alarm.

She shoots him and Janice a dark glare.

“He kicked me out! Can you believe it?!” she snaps. “Not even five minutes and I’m being hustled out the door!”

Uhura drops down on the chaise with Janice and leans back on the pillow at her knees.

“What happened, sweetie?” Janice coos, stroking comfortingly at her hair.

Uhura tosses her shoes to the floor. She elaborates on the events of her night from her refined dinner with her date at Lithios to their stroll around the lake.

“He was so charming, and, oh, so _handsome_ ,” she declares dreamily. “We ended up back at his quarters…”

Her demeanor then switches in an instant.

“Right after he’s through, he asks me to leave! Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am! The _nerve_!” she hisses.

“What a dog!” Janice exclaims. “Who is this jerk?”

Uhura sits up suddenly.

“I already told you, Janice, he’s a guest,” she whispers as if someone might overhear. “Mudd would probably have all our jobs for telling you even that much!”

She drops back down onto the pillow with a dramatic sigh and swings her legs up, squishing Janice against the cushions. After a moment, she turns her attention to Kirk sitting quietly on the couch, her eyes glittering with excitement.

“Did you have a visitor in the sunroom today, Jim?”

Kirk groans, burying his face into his book.

“He did!” Janice singsongs, and they giggle together.

“Please tell me all about it, Jim; I need it after the let down I just had.”

With an exasperated sigh, Kirk relays to her the afternoon spent with Spock. He tells her about his research, feeling a prideful twinge at the wonder in her eyes as he described his design for the geological survey units.

“Wow; gorgeous and smart—go on.”

He continues on about their chess game, and the second, and the third.

“James T. Kirk, you beat him at chess?” Uhura interjects. “Do you know nothing about wooing?”

Kirk smirks, arching an eyebrow.

“I don’t know…he kinda seemed to like it.”

Uhura and Janice exchange a glance. He then informs her of the purpose of his stay.

“Married? You need negotiations to get married?”

Kirk shrugs.

“Ambassador Sarek is a high-ranking official on Vulcan as is Director Solen,” he says simply. “Making formal arrangements to unite the two prestigious families seems…logical.”

Uhura answers with a sound of agreement. Kirk watches her lay there for a moment before she pushes herself up.

“I need a big bubble bath and some of that Elaysian wine we picked up at the last star base, stat!” she grumbles, rising to her feet. She shoots Janice a devilish smile. “He may have been a toad, but he sure knew how to wear me out.”

“Nyota!” Janice cries in feigned shock.

Kirk laughs as Janice slaps Uhura’s ass, causing her to yelp and prance out the door toward her quarters.

“It’s pretty late, Janice, I think I’m going to turn in,” he announces, climbing out of his nest on the couch.

He stands and stretches his stiff muscles, groaning appreciatively when his lower back pops.

“Good night, Jim.”

He turns at the doorway with a smile.

“Good night.”


	4. Chapter 4

Spock steps into the dark studio, looking around cautiously to determine that indeed the space was empty for the night. Satisfied, he walks deeper into the room. His parents had finally retired to their quarters, which gave him the opportunity to sneak away from his own. He still isn’t quite sure why he’s here or what he plans to do, but his blood tingles with electricity. He needs to move, to feel the burn in his muscles and the air in his lungs. _He needs to dance_.

“Computer, play…Chopin´s Nocturne E flat major, opus 9 number 2,” his voice is booming in the silence of the room.

The computer immediately complies, and music spills from the speakers. Spock takes a deep breath, readying his body in first position with his heels touching and his arms in an oval in front of him. He takes a moment to feel the music in his head, in his chest, in his bones. He raises his arms slowly, followed by one long leg until it extends fully in the air. He comes back down in a nimble sweep of limbs. His foot slides across the floor in a graceful arch, lifting to his toes as the other foot follows. He twirls across the floor, letting the music carry him, making him lighter with each note. He loses himself to it, swaying and gliding around the studio.

After a few moments, Spock’s skin glistens with sweat. He relishes the heat in his body, his movements becoming more energetic in spite of the slow lull of the music. He hasn’t done this in ages. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he’s danced like this. It’s been far too long. His heart thumping against the side of his ribcage, he leaps into the air in a wide split and lands as soft as a feather on his toes as the last note echoes in the studio.

The sweat drips from his body now, and his chest heaves with deep breaths. His muscles are on fire and his blood thunders in his ears. The feeling is exquisite, and he indulges in the moment, bathing in the euphoria.

“That was absolutely incredible.”

Spock’s molten blood turns to ice at the voice behind him. After the constant litany of orders and updates given over the intercom during their travels to Muria, there was no forgetting that voice. Already knowing who would be standing there, he turns with the irrational hope that perhaps the flood of endorphins in his bloodstream from the exercise is producing a hallucination. Unfortunately, he discovers, this is not the case.

Kirk stands motionless in the doorway leading to the locker rooms. His bare, sun-kissed torso shimmers with moisture in spite of the towel draped around his neck. His fair hair is damp with a small strand curling onto his forehead. The loosely tied forest green lounge pants hang low on his hips, and Spock fights the temptation to determine just how low they are. He swallows hard at the expanse of exposed skin before him. So much…to touch… His golden eyes glimmer with amusement when Spock finally brings his attention to them. His cheeks flush at the realization that he’s been caught staring.

“I apologize, Captain,” Spock states firmly, straightening his back and dropping his arms tightly to his sides. “I did not know anyone else was here.”

Kirk smirks and takes a step closer. Spock resists the urge to take a step back.

“You’re quite alright; I was just finishing up my shower when I heard the music…” he steals a quick glance over the clothing clinging to Spock’s body, causing the Vulcan to blush again under the attention. “You failed to mention that you dance Terran ballet.”

He takes another step forward, and Spock’s heart rate quickens at the proximity. He’s unable to speak and unable to look away. He’s unusually drawn to the human’s eyes, like a moth to a flame. His lips part involuntarily as the golden irises catch the soft magenta light from nearby Fasmoria. He’s absolutely stunning. Suddenly appalled by his traitorous thoughts, he shakes his head to clear them away.

“You never asked. Regardless, I should be going, Captain; please pardon my intrusion,” he says as he spins around to the door behind him.

“Wait!”

In spite of himself, Spock complies. He turns back to the captain, who is even closer than before. They gaze at each other for a moment, not saying a word. His hands twitch with the desire to reach out and touch, to feel Kirk’s smooth skin under his fingertips, to soak in that raw human emotion he can sense radiating from the man.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Mr. Spock, but I would appreciate it if you answered my question,” the captain’s voice is like Orion velvet. “How did you learn to dance like that?”

Spock fingers fidget at his sides, which only builds his frustration. It will take considerable meditation to quiet down the tumult clouding his mind. He pushes a puff of air through his nostrils, making Kirk smile a little wider.

“If I tell you, will you release me and never speak of this to anyone?” Spock demands in a hushed voice as if someone might overhear.

Kirk glances over Spock’s shoulder at the door behind him. The smirk on his face is insufferable.

“I wasn’t aware I was trapping you, Mr. Spock,” he replies smoothly.

Ignoring his teasing tone, Spock takes a deep breath.

“As I’m sure you noticed, my mother is a human Terran. She was a teacher before she mated my father and had a great affinity to Terran arts, especially ballet,” he explains like a professor giving a lecture.

The captain nods his understanding, his smile still pulling at his lips. Something impish then flashes in his eyes.

“That dance was rather…passionate for a Vulcan, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Spock?” he teases. “Quite a display of flagrant emotionalism.”

Spock raises his arched eyebrows.

“I see no reason to insult me, sir,” he remarks. “As I have now answered your question, I will take my leave.”

He moves for the door.

“Mr. Spock,” Kirk calls behind him.

Spock closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. Will he ever be free of this man? He needs fresh air, anything to cleanse the heady combination of bergamot and the captain’s own scent. Ever the Ambassador’s polite son, however, he glances back over his shoulder and waits.

“There is a party in two days in the staff’s quarters,” Kirk tells him. “I hope you will join us.”

Spock stiffens his mouth in a straight line. He shouldn’t have been here in the first place, and now he is being punished for his impulsiveness.

“I find hope to be a human failing, Captain,” he claims coolly, turning slightly to face the man. “In addition, doesn’t the location of this party imply that it is for staff only?”

The captain’s pink lips stretch into a broad grin.

“Well, Mr. Spock, with moves like that, I’m sure we can make an exception,” he answers with a wink.

Without a reply, Spock straightens his shirt before curtly spinning on his heels to the door. He doesn’t look back as he makes his escape.


	5. Chapter 5

Spock’s footsteps creak against the wooden planks of the boardwalk as he makes his way to the staff’s quarters. His sensitive ears already pick up the loud music in the distance mixed with a chorus of voices and laughter. He straightens his light blue wrap-around tunic tied at his waist with a golden sash. It was the closest item of clothing he brought with him resembling what humans would consider appropriate party attire. He still wasn’t quite sure why he eventually decided to join the festivities, but with his mother and father consumed in negotiations with the Solen family, he found himself alone in his quarters and struggling to meditate. Something about this strange planet seems to keep him from doing so, and it’s a little alarming. Nevertheless, here he is, heading to the staff quarters.

“Hey, Spock!” comes a yell from behind.

The Vulcan turns and meets the smiling face of a young blonde carrying two large boxes of what seems to be Saurian Brandy.

“It is Spock, isn’t it? I remember your shade of blue eye shadow. Is it Vulcan? I love it! You’ll have to tell me where you get it,” she spews off, one box slipping slowly in her fingers. “Sorry, I’m Janice Rand; I was the yeoman on your flight. I’d shake your hand, but mine are a little full.”

She gives a musical laugh, and Spock raises an eyebrow at her. She shifts one of the boxes with her hip, and the other slips free. Spock catches the fragile cargo before it hits the ground and lifts it up into his arms.

“Wow, you’re pretty quick,” Janice awes, her blue eyes glitter in the ball lights adorning the boardwalk railing. “Were you on your way to the party? You shouldn’t be! Your parents would kill you, and Mudd would kill me! But if you are, do you mind?”

She nods at the box in his hands, then spins around to continue down the boardwalk. Glancing around, not really sure what to do, Spock eventually decides to follow her. They reach the staff quarters and instead of turning the doorknob with her hand, she gives the doors a hard bump with her hip, making them fly open.

The music is a harsh assault on Spock’s sensitive ears at first, making him cringe against it, but within a few moments, his hearing adjusts and he’s able to accommodate the high volume. The room is crammed full of people swaying and moving to the beat of the music in ways that brings a deep flush to Spock’s cheeks. He follows Janice through the dense sea of rhythmic bodies. Humans straddling the legs of their partners, faces buried into chests, fingers weaving into locks soaked with sweat. Humans, as it turns out, have such a need to touch one another as if it were as essential as eating or breathing. As one girl grinds back on her partner, Spock looks away, abashed by being present during such an intimate act. He slips by the gyrating bodies, increasingly grateful for his decision to wear long clothing as a barrier to the bare skin surrounding him. The bit of meditation he was able to accomplish at least is helping him tune out the white noise of his telepathic senses.

Spock continues his way after Janice, but can’t help glancing around the room. He tells himself he isn’t looking for anyone in particular, but his wandering eyes betray him as they only seem attune to caramel hair and golden eyes. He and Janice make it back to the bar and deposit the boxes on the bar-top. They both turn as a loud uproar shakes the room, and he blames the overwhelming energy for the skip in his chest.

Kirk steps out onto the floor, wearing his black uniform pants and boots topped with a sparkling sleeveless tunic. Spock takes a moment to admire the deep creases in the muscles of his arms as the man leads Uhura to the floor. She is dressed very differently now than the flowing white lace dress she wore during her dance at the luncheon. Kirk spins her around in the neon pink number clinging to her body, hugging every curve in an enticing display. He pulls her back into his arms, and she seems to melt against him as he swings her to the side. Something bitter roils in Spock’s gut at the action, and he quickly suppresses the disappointment that it isn’t him on the dance floor with him.

A strong hand trails down her arm wrapped around his neck as their bodies move together, swaying and grinding. Spock wants to look away, ashamed of the jealousy sour in his throat, but can’t take his eyes off them. The way they dance, locked together, reading each other…he’s never seen anything like it. Sensuality radiates from them with each movement, igniting the verve of everyone else in the room.

“They dance well together,” Spock comments, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah, you’d think they were a couple,” Janice replies without looking away.

Spock reluctantly turns to her, raising an eyebrow.

“Are they not?”

Janice shakes her head with a smile.

“No; Jim doesn’t really swing that way, if you know what I mean.”

The crowd erupts in applause as the song ends and Kirk and the Uhura take their bows. A light sheen of sweat glistens on his bronzed skin, and he slicks back his damp locks with his fingers. The captain then begins scanning around the room as if searching for something. Spock raises his eyebrows, and there’s an uptick in his heart rate. Could he be…is he…? He suddenly freezes in place as golden eyes lock on to him. Face shimmering with perspiration, a smirk pulls up one corner of the man’s mouth. He swallows hard as the man weaves his way through the crowd to him.

“I’m glad you made it, Mr. Spock,” his voice is low and rough as gravel.

Spock pulls back his shoulders and straightens his back.

“I thought it might be considered rude to decline the invitation,” he says.

The next song begins to play, and Spock watches as he extends a hand to him. He stares at it in disbelief. Surely he must understand the implications of his gesture to a Vulcan. Yet, he waits patiently, hand still outstretched, daring him to take it. Spock looks up at the man, whose eyes shimmer in the low light. He then swallows down his nervousness, ignoring the alarms blaring in his head, and places his hand in his.

His stomach tightens at the onslaught of sensation flowing into him from the captain’s hand. He struggles to reinforce his mental shields against it and is able to recover some of his dwindling control. The electricity surges between them as they make their way to the middle of the floor. A hush falls over the room as the others recognize his arched eyebrows and pointed ears. He assumes it would certainly be a rare occurrence to have a guest, let alone a Vulcan, at the staff party. They begin to fall away from his consciousness as his focus zeros in on Kirk’s pulsing palm.

The man spins around to him, grinning brightly

“Alright, roll your hips, Mr. Spock; like this.”

The captain begins rolling his hips in a smooth motion, and Spock feels his mouth go dry as the tight fabric of his pants stretch across muscular thighs. He shakes away his thoughts and moves his hips, trying his best to mimic him. His movements feel awkward and stiff, though, and he hears snickering from behind him. He pauses to look for the offenders, but the captain gently catches his chin.

“Keep your eyes on me, Mr. Spock. Keep moving your hips; you’re doing fine,” the man reassures him.

Spock does as he’s told. His muscles loosen and the movements become smoother. He can’t help the hum of satisfaction as he mirrors the captain’s motions exactly.

“Good,” the captain praises.

He then slips a hand around Spock’s waist and pulls him close until their chests press against each other. Spock gasps at the contact, hips stuttering.

“Keep moving,” the captain coaches as he slides a knee between his legs.

Another wave of emotion flows through Spock—relief, excitement, anticipation…lust. It butts relentlessly against his mental shields. He finally gives way, but only slightly, letting the sensations pour in. Hips rolling, shoulders swaying, he allows himself to truly hear, taste, move…to truly _feel_ the dance. Spock grinds himself against the man’s leg, moaning quietly at the sensation it evokes.

“That’s it,” Kirk’s voice like warm honey. “Dig it in there, Mr. Spock.”

They keep moving, dancing to the music. The captain dares to swing him down low and back up in a graceful circle. The man smirks, eyes shimmering with triumph. Spock arches an eyebrow at him, and then ventures to wrap his arms around the captain’s neck. The gesture causes the captain’s confident demeanor to falter, and his eyes widen. Spock smirks back at him and grinds again into his leg. They dance, swinging and swaying until the captain gives him a strong twirl, sending him spinning into the crowd.

The song comes to an end as Spock regains his footing. He turns to the direction of the captain, only to find the dense collection of humans before him. Kirk is gone. Spock whips his head around, suddenly unsure what to do. He straightens his tunic and runs a hand over his slightly disheveled hair in an attempt to smooth it before heading for the door. As he opens it, he spots Janice against the back wall smiling broadly. She flashes him a double thumbs-up, and he slips out into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

Spock walks along the rows of plants in the greenhouse near the main ballroom. He pauses next to a _Claytonia Speciosa_ , also known as Ethelas, a large, sturdy plant native to Muria with light orange blossoms resembling Terran roses. He bends down, gently taking a delicate bloom in his long fingers while successfully avoiding the sharp thorns protruding from the stems. He sniffs at the fragrant petals; the scent is sweet and spicy like cinnamon. He releases the flower and is slightly disappointed by the fact that such a pleasant plant is trapped in the greenhouse, separate from the rest of the grounds.

His thoughts are interrupted by a soft sob from somewhere nearby. Judging by the slight echo, the source is in the room. He glances around. He quietly steps around the plants, ears attune to the muffled sniffles. The sound grows louder and louder until he spots Uhura sitting alone, back to him, on a small stone bench under a net of grapevines. He hesitates, realizing she does not know of his presence. Her shoulders shake with her cries, and Spock arches an eyebrow. He considers saying something, but decides against it. Instead, he turns and quickly strides out of the greenhouse and towards the staff quarters.

 

 

Kirk unloads another box from the hovering cargo vehicle, and Janice follows suit.

“Gods, Janice, how many bottles of Tamarian Frost mix did you order?” he scolds playfully as he sets the box down on the wooden loading dock.

“Hey! You’re the one who just ordered 20 pounds of bacon, sir!” Janice jibes back. “Anyway, how was dancing with Spock at the party? You two looked pretty cozy.”

She emphasizes her comment with a waggle of her eyebrows, and Kirk rolls his eyes.

“I was a little surprised, to be honest,” he admits, pausing to grunt as he lifts a large sack from the vehicle. “I didn’t think he’d even show up, let alone take my hand.”

Janice gives him an eager smile.

“And?”

Kirk drops the bag and wipes the sweat from his brow. He pulls at the hem of his loose tank top to increase the airflow underneath.

“It was…different, Janice,” he says dreamily, looking up at the soft pink sky. “It was like I could feel every part of him, you know? I’m not sure how to explain it…”

There is a soft drumming of footsteps coming down the boardwalk.

“Speak of the devil,” Janice mumbles.

The two stop their work and turn to the tall, lithe figure making its way to them.

“Captain,” Spock greets him as he nears.

His cheeks are flushed green from his rush, and to Kirk’s delight, he notices that the tips of his ears are as well. The long, billowing sleeves of his black tunic flap in the wind from his quick movements. Kirk grins at the Vulcan.

“Hello, Mr. Spock,” he replies sweetly. “To what do I owe—”

“It’s Uhura, Captain,” Spock interrupts.

Kirk’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“Uhura?” he asks. “Wh—”

“I do not mean to be rude, but I found her in the greenhouse. She seems to be in great distress.”

The smile falls from Kirk’s face at the information. Spock’s dark eyes bore into his, calm and serious.

“Take me to her,” Kirk orders, hopping over their unloaded boxes with Janice following close behind.

Kirk is panting by the time they reach the greenhouse in his haste to keep up with Spock’s large, graceful strides. The Vulcan hasn’t even broken a sweat in spite of the heat and his long, dark clothing. He follows him towards the back to a small sitting area underneath a pile of grapevines. As promised, Uhura is sitting on the bench, shoulders trembling.

“Nyota?” Kirk says gently, sliding passed Spock to her side.

Uhura turns at the sound of his voice.

“Oh, Jim,” she wails, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks.

Kirk wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest. She buries her face into his shirt, and he can already feel the resulting dampness. He squeezes her tighter.

“Nyota, what is it?” he murmurs into her hair. “Are you hurt?”

Uhura shakes her head, her forehead rubbing against him. She lifts her head to look at him.

“No, Jim,” she sniffs, her eyes rimmed red. “I’m pregnant.”

Janice gasps, and Kirk stops his jaw from falling at the announcement. From the corner of his eye, he sees Spock arch an eyebrow.    

“Gods, I’m usually so careful, Jim, but I let my guard down…”

“How did you find out, Nyota?” Kirk inquires softly, rubbing her shoulders reassuringly.

“I took a pregnancy test this morning. I’ve been feeling a little off all week, so I just did it for kicks. I didn’t think it would actually come back positive,” she whimpers, tears streaming down her face once more. “What am I going to do, Jim?”

Kirk places his fingers under her chin to raise her face to meet him.

“We’re going to take you to Dr. McCoy so he can give you a proper examination,” he tells her. “Then we can go from there.”

Uhura sniffs and nods, her tears finally ceasing. Kirk pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to her. She takes the cloth and wipes the damp residue from her face. Kirk grins at her when she hands back the handkerchief. Janice steps around the bench to Uhura’s side and gives her a small smile as she holds out a hand. Uhura takes it, and the two begin make their way out of the greenhouse. Kirk stands up from the bench and glances over at Spock, a silent presence since they arrived. A long finger rests against his lips, and his eyebrows knit together like he’s deep in thought.

“Thank you for coming to me, Spock,” Kirk says, watching at the Vulcan’s dark eyes focus on him.

“I did what was necessary in the situation; there is no reason to thank me,” Spock answers nonchalantly.

Kirk smiles softly and nods. He steps around the bench and begins to follow Uhura and Janice. He pauses and turns when he notices he is walking alone.

“Are you coming?” he inquires.

Spock arches an eyebrow.

“Do you wish for me to join you?” he asks back, puzzled.

Kirk grins wider.

“Of course.”

A small light glimmers in Spock’s eyes, and it’s probably the closest thing he had ever seen to a Vulcan smile.

“Then I will come with you,” he states.

“Good,” Kirk says as they walk to the exit. “You’ll meet a very good friend of mine.”


	7. Chapter 7

Kirk presses the button to announce his presence outside the door.

“Come in!” comes a call from within.

The door slides open with a soft whoosh, and Uhura, Janice, and Kirk, followed by Spock enter the small medical center. A sofa and a couple of plush chairs curve around in front of a small glass desk where a man is scribbling some notes into a PADD.

“Be with you in just a moment,” he mutters, absorbed in his current task.

“Oh, no, please take your time, doctor,” Kirk replies with a smirk.

The man immediately looks up.

“Jim!” he jumps up, dropping his PADD. His blue eyes shimmer as he navigates the furniture and slaps a hand on Kirk’s back. “How ya been?”

Kirk smiles warmly.

“Fine, fine, Bones,” he tells him.

The doctor greets Uhura and Janice each with a bright smile and a tight hug. He freezes when his eyes land on Spock.

“Well, this is a first,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kirk suppresses a chuckle as Spock arches an eyebrow at the doctor, his hands clasped calmly behind his back.

“Bones, this is Spock; Spock, this is Doctor McCoy, the head physician of the resort,” Kirk introduces them.

Spock gives the doctor a stoic bow, which only adds to his regal aura.

“I’ve never had a Vulcan in my office before,” the doctor explains, rocking back and forth on his heels, looking Spock up and down.

The Vulcan shifts his feet subtly under the scrutiny.

“No, sir, I’ve never had a Vulcan in here before. They all seem to think I’m some sort of barbaric quack,” the doctor accuses, narrowing his eyes.

“Perhaps it is because Vulcan physiology differs so greatly from humans, and therefor is outside your expertise, doctor,” Spock replies coolly, seemingly unscathed by the doctor’s remarks.

McCoy opens his mouth to say something more, but Kirk quickly places a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re actually not here for a social visit, Bones.”

The doctor’s demeanor cools instantly.

“Oh?” the doctor mutters, raising his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

Kirk turns to Uhura and slips a hand behind her back. He gives her a small encouraging smile.

“I’m pregnant, Dr. McCoy,” she admits. “I need you to give me an exam…to make sure everything is okay.”

McCoy’s eyes widen before looking from Uhura to Kirk, then back at Uhura.

“Um, y-yes, of course I can give you an exam,” he stutters, then regains his faculties. “Please come this way, Nyota.”

He pauses to turn to the others.

“Please sit and make yourselves comfortable,” he tells them, and then glances at Spock. “If you can.”

The two then disappear behind a sliding door at the back of the room.

About a half an hour later, the doctor reemerges from the examination room, his face neutral.

“What’s your report, doctor?” Kirk asks, leaping to his feet from the lounge chair across from Spock and Janice with anxiety thick in his voice.

“Well, she’s pregnant, Jim; she’s only about a week along, but the results are definitely positive,” the doctor reports.

“Astounding observation, doctor.” Kirk can practically hear Spock’s eyes rolling with the comment.

McCoy shoots him a dark glare.

“That’s not all,” he continues, turning back to Kirk. “She’s carrying a Vulcan child.”

Kirk’s jaw drops.

“What?”

“Impossible,” comes Spock’s voice again from behind him. “Humans and Vulcans are unable to procreate without scientific intervention.”

“Hey, who’s the doctor around here?” McCoy snaps at the Vulcan over Kirk’s shoulder.

Kirk hears a soft shuffle of clothing as Spock moves closer, the heat from his body radiating up his side.

“At this moment in time, I’m not sure.”

McCoy’s face turns a dark shade of red.

“Now you listen here, you pointy-eared hobgoblin!”

Kirk braces his hand against the doctor’s chest as Janice jumps in to hold him as well. He reaches back to find Spock’s arm and wraps his fingers around his bare wrist. This seems to bring a sudden stop to the Vulcan’s movements.

“Please.”

Spock stares at him for a moment, then glances away and steps back. McCoy exhales loudly and does the same.

“Spock is right, Bones,” Kirk says gently. “How can she be pregnant with a Vulcan child?”

McCoy shrugs and glances at Janice’s wide blue eyes.

“I can’t explain it either, Jim, but I tested and retested, then tested again. All the results are the same. The baby is Vulcan, and she’s not letting on who the father is.”

Silence hangs heavy in the room as they all absorb the information.

“I’ve also put her on medical leave,” the doctor informs Kirk. “I need to keep her here for at least a week to run some more tests; I don’t like the looks of her vital readings.”

Kirk’s shoulders sag.

“We’re booked to dance at the Lithios next week, doctor. We’ll lose an entire season’s of pay if we don’t.”

McCoy nods thoughtfully, clasping his hands behind his back.

“So Nyota tells me,” he says. “But I can’t let her take the risk. Her readings are all over the place, Jim. You’ll have to find a replacement.”

Kirk rubs a hand over his face.

“Where am I going to find a replacement for Nyota in less than a week?” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

“I will be your replacement, Captain.”

All eyes snap to Spock.

“What?” they all say in unison.

Spock arches an eyebrow.

“As you know, I am already an experienced dancer,” he explains. “With your instruction, I could be ready in time for the performance.”

Kirk closes his mouth once he realizes it’s been hanging open. Dance with Spock? A _Vulcan_? Fooling around at a party is one thing, but this is a performance—one of the most important performances of the season, no less. He rubs nervously at the back of his neck.

“I don’t know, Spock…”

“It’s the only logical choice under the circumstances.”

He has a point. With a sigh, he drops his arm to his side.

“Alright,” he relents. “But we only have a week, so I need full cooperation from you. Do you understand?”

A glimmer dances in Spock’s dark eyes.

“Certainly, Captain.”

Kirk gives him a soft smile. He turns to McCoy.

“Keep me updated?”

“Of course, Jim; I’ll let you know how things go.”

The doctor then glances briefly at Spock.

“And good luck,” he murmurs quietly.

“The quality of our performance, doctor, will be a result of coaching and practice. Luck has nothing to do with it,” Spock interjects.

McCoy glares at him, and Kirk laughs.

“Vulcan ears, remember?” he teases before spinning around.

“Alright, Mr. Spock, let’s get started.”


	8. Chapter 8

Kirk drops to the floor in an exhausted heap, chest heaving with deep breaths. Sweat drips profusely down his face.

“That’s enough practice for today, Mr. Spock,” he announces breathlessly.

Spock is only glowing with the light sheen of moisture on his skin, and his breaths still come in deep, even pulls.

“The performance is approximately forty-seven hours away, Captain,” he informs him bluntly.

“Yes, it is,” Kirk answers as soon as his heart rate begins to slow.

Spock clasps his hands behind his back in an almost nervous gesture.

“We have not yet practiced the lift,” he says.

Kirk props himself up on his elbows, sweat finally drying.

“That’s true, Mr. Spock, but you need to master these other moves before we even start discussing something that advanced.”

Spock arches an eyebrow at him, and Kirk wonders if it is a conscious act or a reflex at this point.

“If I may, Captain, I have been executing the steps exactly to your specifications for days now,” he explains flatly.

This is also true. Spock is a quick learner, and within a few short days, his moves are nearly textbook perfect. But that’s it—they are textbook. There is no sensuality, no seduction, not even flirtation. The dance is impeccable, but it lacks something—more. It needs that spark he saw in Spock that night in the studio. It needs that passion, that _emotion_.

“You’re not ready,” Kirk states, pulling himself off the floor and wiping his face with a towel; his green tank top is completely soaked through.

“There is no reason for this delay, Captain,” Spock shoots back, the irritation on the edge of his tone taking Kirk by surprise. He quickly reins himself in. “If the lift is still to be a feature of our performance, it would be foolish to postpone instruction any longer.”

Kirk gulps down a full glass of water from the dispenser on the wall. He spots a little twitch at the corner of Spock’s mouth and his eyes shimmer mischievously.

“However, I would understand if you did choose to eliminate the lift from our performance. Vulcans tend to be quite heavy, and it is unlikely for a human to possess the ability to lift one overhead.”

Kirk smirks at Spock, tossing the towel to the side. He has his own idea in mind.

“You want to practice the lift? Right now?”

He knows he’s falling right into Spock’s trap, but the Vulcan has a point. They do only have two more days.

“Fine; come with me.”

They leave from the back of the studio and step out onto a narrow dirt path. The sun has dipped down into evening, tingeing the world in magenta. Soft rays leak through the canopy of leaves overhead as they weave through a dense forest of trees. Kirk leads Spock farther along the dirt path until the studio and the rest of the resort has disappeared from view.

“Where exactly are you taking me, Captain?” Spock finally pipes up.

“Just a little farther, Mr. Spock,” Kirk answers with a smile.

After a few more minutes of walking, they emerge from the tree line into a wide clearing. A violet pond sits calmly in the middle, rimmed by a swath of soft grass. A collection of blue flowers float leisurely along its surface.

“You want to practice the lift, let’s practice the lift,” Kirk says as he continues toward the water.

He removes most of his clothing until he’s left in his uniform pants. The cool evening breeze tickles against his heated bare skin. Spock’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“Would it not make more sense to practice in the studio, Captain? Our performance will not be in the water,” he explains.

“Yes, Mr. Spock, but if Vulcans are as heavy as you say, then wouldn’t it be more comfortable to fall into water than the studio floor?” he asks before dropping his pants, leaving him in nothing but his black boxer briefs.

Kirk catches Spock stealing a quick look up and down. Smirking, he draws back his shoulders and straightens his back in order to give him a good view.

“Being dropped on the floor would be most unpleasant,” Spock mumbles and walks closer to the water.

Kirk steps into the pond, and the blue flowers swirl around his legs. The initial sting of cold quickly fades away, and he continues until the water is up to his stomach. He turns back to the shore where Spock is still standing; the only item of clothing removed is his shoes.

“We only have two days, Mr. Spock,” he calls to him.

Spock clenches and unclenches his hands before dipping a foot into the violet water. Fully clothed, the Vulcan slowly makes his way through the pond until he’s joined him in the middle.

“This may look like a simple move, but it is one built on trust as much as it is on strength and balance,” Kirk explains. “And it means no more calling me Captain, Mr. Spock; I’m not your captain. To you, I’m Jim.”

He then takes the hem of Spock’s shirt in his fingers.

“Now, I’m going to remove your shirt, Spock,” he murmurs. “The water it’s carrying will throw us off balance. I would normally insist on removing your pants as well, but this will do for now.”

He waits until Spock gives him a hesitant nod. The Vulcan lifts his arms above his head, and Kirk pulls the garment off him. He’s indulging his temptations, he knows, when he allows a moment to appraise the man before him. His eyes follow the deep creases of his taut neck down to a perfectly etched collarbone. He’d be lying if he said he’d expected the hair, but there it is. Thick and dark it covers his pale green chest, and he finds himself resisting with everything he has to keep from running his fingers through it. Reluctantly, Kirk brings his gaze back up. Spock’s impeccable dark hair is ruffled, and his breaths pass quickly through pink parted lips. Kirk moves closer, causing the water to swirl around them, and places his hands on the Spock’s sides. Spock gasps, and he feels a mild hum resonating through his left hand.

“What is _that_?” Kirk asks after a moment staring down into the water as if he could see the source of the strange sensation.

“If you are referring to what you are probably feeling in your left hand, Captain,” Spock stutters at Kirk’s arched eyebrow. “Jim. That is my heart.”

“Why does it feel like that?” Kirk inquires before realizing his question is incredibly rude.

“A Vulcan heart can beat approximately 265 times per minute compared to the human rate of 100 beats per minute,” Spock replies, seemingly unfazed.

Kirk smiles down at the water once more, rubbing affectionately at the spot with his thumb.

“Wow…” he murmurs to himself, surprised at the comfort flowing through him.

Spock clears his throat.

“Shall we move on with our lesson, Cap—Jim? We do not have much daylight left.”

He’s right. The sun is nearly touching the horizon, and the sky is turning a brighter shade of fuchsia. Kirk lowers his palms to Spock’s hips, now curiously protective of the precious organ in the other man’s side.

“Put your hands on my shoulders, Spock,” he orders softly.

The Vulcan does as he’s told without hesitation, and Kirk nearly groans at the touch of his strong fingers. His mind clouds as everything within him reaches for that point of contact, but he quickly shakes it away.

“On the count of three, you will bend your knees and hop up while pushing against my shoulders,” he continues, keeping the tremble out of his voice. “When you are in the air, arch your back and hold your body rigid. Pretend like you’re flying.”

“Jim, I am a Vulcan; I cannot—”

“Pretend, Spock.”

Kirk shifts his feet against the pond’s floor and grips his hips a little tighter.

“One…two…three!”

As instructed, Spock jumps like a bird taking flight, and Kirk presses up into his hips until he’s ascending into the air. In spite of the strain in his arms and shoulders, Spock is not as heavy as he was expecting; in fact, he seems rather light compared to Spock’s description of Vulcan weight. He feels the tight flex of muscles against his palms as Spock arches his back. Experience has taught him to keep his face forward in order to maintain his balance, but he can’t resist a glimpse of the man above him. His neck bends back. He’s met first by the creases of flexed abdominal muscles, then an upturned chest. His body is still and calm…like he’s gliding through air. Kirk’s arms begin to wobble then, and he can feel Spock tipping forward. He falls back into he water, and Spock lands safely above him.

Kirk’s head breaches the surface of the pond, and he shakes the water from his face. Spock comes up shortly after, his dark hair plastered down onto his forehead.

“That was close, Mr. Spock; very good for a first try,” he praises him. “How did it feel?”

Spock wipes a hand over his face and back through his hair.

“Rather…exhilarating,” he answers, dark eyes shimmering brightly in the dying light.

His cheeks are flushed green and the sunset glitters in the water beading on his bare skin. A few of the small blue flowers float around him. Kirk stares in awe; he’s like a god of ancient myths in the flesh and he’s…absolutely beautiful.

“Still think I can’t lift you?” Kirk finally says with a smirk, pushing away his thoughts.

Spock arches an eyebrow at him.

“Well, you did drop me, Jim, so I have yet to believe otherwise,” a teasing glint flickers in his eyes.

Kirk gives him a little splash before standing up straight.

“Alright, let’s try it again.”

A small curl pulls at the corner of Spock’s mouth, and Kirk realizes, to his delight, that it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s seen from the Vulcan. It wasn’t much, but it’s a start. Maybe there’s still hope yet.


	9. Chapter 9

If the average Vulcan heart can beat 265 times per minute, Spock’s is well above that rate. He stands motionless in the dark. He hears the crowd of guests around him, even though his breathing seems to be the loudest sound in the room. Kirk’s cooler body draws the heat from him against his back, his hands like ice at his hips. A blinding spotlight flashes on, and Spock squints against it. A dim strand of blue light outlines the black lacquer stage, bringing a few waiting faces into view. His breath begins to quicken.

Spock gently lifts his arm to wrap up around the man’s neck, indicating the beginning of their performance. The deep purple sequins of the tight top he’s wearing shimmer with the movement. It’s suddenly suffocating.

“It’s alright, Spock,” Kirk whispers against his ear, his lips grazing the edge in his proximity, sending a shiver down his body. “You’ll be great.”

Kirk’s hand sneaks up his side until it rests over his heart. He rubs the spot gently with his thumb, and a wave of serenity washes over him. The music begins to play, and Kirk spins him around. Spock’s body moves with ease, his steps almost second nature as the song carries them across the stage. Inside, however, his heart thunders against his ribcage and a bitter taste bubbles in his throat.

The silence from the audience is deafening over the music. It is nothing like the night of the staff party. No talking, no laughing, no…anything. All he can sense are their eyes. Spock’s ears strain to catch any little sound to put him at ease, but nothing comes. He finds himself wishing for the crowded dancehall of the staff party. At least then he had a visible adversary, making it easier to create a barrier from any physical contact. But here…on this stage…stares cannot be blocked. In fact, he and Kirk swirling around in a blur of purple and green sequin, they did not just draw their attention—they demanded it. As irrational as this fear is, Spock cannot help but want to run and hide.

Kirk spins him away and takes his place at the corner of the stage, a second spotlight on him. He motions with his hands for Spock to come, excitement blatant on his face. It is time for the lift.

Spock readies himself, pushing down the unease rising in his chest. He runs toward Kirk, playing the steps he needed to take in his mind along the way. As Kirk comes closer and closer, the trepidation seeps through his flimsy mental shields. At the last possible second, Spock aborts the move and instead grinds his body against him in some awkward attempt to make the move seem rehearsed. If only he could concentrate long enough on this planet to meditate and reinforce his mental shields to an adequate level. He feels his cheeks heat up and embarrassment roil angrily in his stomach.

“Spock, look at me,” comes a quiet order, slicing through the thick fog of his untethered thoughts.

Spock meets Kirk’s gaze, his eyes bright in the spotlight.

“You’re doing wonderfully, Spock; just keep your eyes on me,” he murmurs, their feet moving together to the beat. “Focus on me.”

 _Jim_. Another wave of calm floods Spock’s body at the thought. The clutter of thoughts in his head begins to clear away as he spins around, returning his focus to Kirk.

_Jim._

They glide around the stage, bodies pressed tightly together.

_Jim._

Faces turned toward each other, hot, heavy breaths brush against flushed skin. Spock then notices for the first time the subtle hint of green in the irises of Kirk’s eyes, and his lips stretch into a wide smile.

The human’s steps falter for a brief moment, not long enough to be noticed by many, but enough for a Vulcan to catch. Kirk reconstructs his showman’s grin, and they continue their performance until the last note of music echoes through the hall. The unseen audience hidden behind bright stage lights erupts in a thunderous applause. Kirk leads him in a bow. They repeat the action several times as the ovation continues. After what seems like an eternity, Kirk takes his hand and guides him off stage.

 

Out in the cool night, Spock fills his lungs with the fresh air. It’s like a cleansing swim on a hot, summer day. The stars twinkle overhead around the rounded magenta mass of Fasmoria. His purple sequin top drapes over his arm, to his relief, replaced by a black long-sleeved shirt. Kirk’s footsteps crunch next to him against the gravely walkway leading away from Lithios.

“You did great, Spock; just like I said you would,” Kirk brags shamelessly. “I knew you would be.”

Spock subtly purses his lips.

“I did not complete the lift, Jim; I tarnished our otherwise impeccable performance,” he pouts, staring down at his shoes.

“That doesn’t matter; the lift isn’t a requirement of the performance,” Kirk assures him, swinging his own sequin top over his shoulder. The tight white t-shirt he’s wearing clings to his every curve. Spock’s cheeks heat up when he realizes he’s been watching him too long to justify.

“I thought you did a wonderful job, Spock. You are a splendid dance partner.”

Spock glances over at him, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“That is very kind of you, Jim.”

They walk in companionable silence, content to watch the stars overhead and spot the flicker of fireflies in the bushes. The gravel eventually gives way to wood, and they continue along the boardwalk back to Belaar. Spock detects a trace of uncertainty in Kirk’s quiet demeanor, but resists the urge to voice it. Instead, he gazes out at the dark crimson lake, watching the waves ripple across its surface.

“Spock, can I ask you something?” Kirk finally inquires.

Spock can’t resist.

“I believe you just did,” he mentions with amusement.

Kirk gapes at him, and Spock fights the chuckle rising in his throat.

“Are you trying to be funny, Mr. Spock?”

“It would never occur to me, sir,” he says, managing to bridle his impulse to laugh. “What is your question?”

Kirk squints at him through the corner of his eye before looking away. His hand finds the hem of his sequin shirt hanging from his shoulder and begins to fidget with one of the tiny adornments.

“When we were performing you were…afraid,” he starts tentatively.

Spock sneaks a sideways glimpse, the uncertainty he felt from Kirk earlier growing thicker around them.

“You say that as a statement, not as a question,” he points out evenly.

“I knew you were afraid; I could feel it somehow like it was my own fear fighting to gain purchase in my head,” Kirk blurts. “What I don’t understand is how. You’re Vulcan. How could you feel that?”

“What you are asking is a common misconception about Vulcans, Jim.”

He stops and turns to face the man. Kirk’s eyebrows scrunch together as he waits for him to choose his words.

“Vulcans are a logical race; we spend our lives learning and striving to control our emotions in favor of the logic that guides us. However, it does not mean we cannot feel,” he explains. “In fact, Vulcans feel far more intensely than humans…”

His gaze bores into Kirk, and the man’s pink lips part under the attention. Spock’s eyes drop to his mouth, and he instinctively runs the tip of his tongue against the inside of his bottom lip. A small tingling sensation tickles at the back of his mind before a molten heat begins to burn in his belly, bleeding out into his thumping heart, his chest, and into his limbs. His head is reeling from the scent wafting up from Kirk, filling his senses. His weak mental shields almost seem to vibrate with their struggle to withstand the assault. Against his crumbling efforts, desire as potent and intoxicating as the human’s scent seeps through the barricades, and Spock’s eyelids hang heavy with the feeling. Kirk takes a step closer, their bodies nearly touching. His golden eyes glisten brilliantly in the subtle glow of the illuminated boardwalk.

“What were you feeling when you smiled at me, Spock?” he murmurs, his voice rough.

Spock’s voice seems to catch in his throat as he struggles to produce some sort of answer. Kirk smiles gently and reaches out to place his hand on his side.

“You know what I was feeling, Spock? What I’m still feeling? That I would do everything in my power to keep you smiling like that.”

Kirk takes another step closer, their chests pressing against one another, and he brings his hand up to cup Spock’s cheek in his palm. In spite of the alarms ringing in his head, Spock nuzzles into it, drunk on the emotions flowing through him from Kirk. The man’s fingers graze his sensitive earlobe, and he groans softly, eyes fluttering closed.

“Oh, Spock…” Kirk breathes, heat brushing over his face.

Suddenly, footsteps pound like thunder against the wooden planks of the boardwalk as someone approaches swiftly.

“Jim! Spock!” Janice cries out through the night.

Kirk immediately drops his arms and turns to Janice. Spock’s mind clears instantly at the panicked tone of her voice. She nearly tumbles right into them in her haste. Kirk catches her by the shoulders holding her steady. Dark stripes streak down her face as her tears wash away her makeup.

“Jim! Spock! It’s Uhura! You have to come quickly! Something’s wrong!”


	10. Chapter 10

Kirk is the first to reach the medical center, followed closely by Spock, and then Janice. The fear emanating from the man is overwhelming as he bursts through the door.

“Dr. McCoy!” he shouts.

The doctor emerges from the examination room, his blue eyes weary and rimmed with dark shadows. He barely has the ability to meet their gazes.

Spock watches Kirk run to him, taking him roughly by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong with Nyota, Bones?” he pleads, his worry growing in intensity.

The doctor sighs heavily, sagging in Kirk’s grip.

“I…don’t know, Jim. I was completing some tests when she went into seizure. When she came to, she started screaming in pain,” McCoy wipes a shaking hand over his face. “Then she started going into cardiac arrest. I injected her with cordrazine, but I had to double the normal dosage until she stabilized somewhat.”

The doctor brims with tears.

“She’s dying, Jim,” he tells him, voice trembling. “And I don’t know why.”

Kirk is barely breathing, his eyes wide with disbelief. Spock wishes to reach out to him, comfort him in any way possible, but understands it is of no use. His friend is dying; there is no comfort in that, but he can’t just stand idle, either. A theory begins to bloom in his head. Out of the chaotic energy of the room, he manages to formulate a course of action. He spins around to the door.

“Spock!” Kirk calls behind him.

Spock turns, and the man takes hold of his hand. His eyes are frantic, and his mind is pleading for any sort of solution.

“I will return, Jim,” Spock assures him, caressing his hand.

He then turns away and slips out into the night.

 

Spock’s hard knuckles rap urgently against solid wood. He pauses a moment before repeating the action. The door begins to open, and he takes a step back. The stern face of an elderly female peeks out from the opening.

“Spock?” the woman asks, stepping out into the hallway; she pulls a flowing red hood over her pointed ears.

“T’Lar, I apologize for the disturbance at this hour, but your assistance is needed,” Spock addresses her as politely as he can under the circumstances.

Another door down the hall also opens, and Sarek steps out in his long black robes.

“Spock, what is the meaning of this?” he inquires calmly.

T’Lar holds her hand up, ceasing his interruption. She pulls her robes closer around her, eyebrows furrowed.

“Explain,” she orders firmly.

“A human female in the medical center is carrying a Vulcan child,” Spock explains.

“Impossible,” Sarek interjects flatly. “Such a union would be known among us to have occurred.”

Spock glances at him, repressing his rising irritation.

“That is if those involved desired for their union to be known,” he argues.      His father stares at him in disbelief. He knows what he suspects, but he does not endeavor to dispel his suspicions. The situation affords no time for such trivial distractions. Spock returns his focus to T’Lar.

“Conception occurred organically without intervention of any kind,” he continues. “…She is dying.”

Sarek opens to mouth to say something.

“ _Kroykah_ ,” T’Lar silences him. “Take me to the mother.”

 

Spock leads her to the medical center, their Vulcan physiology carrying them swiftly. Sarek follows close after he refused to stay behind. They enter the center and make their way to the examination room where the others are gathered around Uhura on the biobed. Kirk sits next to her, his hand wrapped around hers. She groans loudly, her head thrashing from side to side before she sinks, exhausted, into the pillows. The biofunction monitor beeps sporadically at a rapid rate at the head of the bed.

“Who are these people?” the doctor lashes out from across the room.

Kirk turns to them, relief relaxing his features somewhat when he spots Spock.

“She is T’Lar, the Vulcan high priestess,” Spock introduces her. “She is the one who administered the practices to ensure my own conception between my father and my human mother. Her abilities may be invaluable to Nyota’s condition.”

T’Lar steps forward, and Kirk stands to move out of her way. He situates himself next to Spock, ignoring the dark glare from his father. The priestess gently sits on the bed next to Uhura, careful not to jostle her in her vulnerable state. She reaches forward toward her face.

“Hey!” McCoy spats, moving forward before Janice stops him.

T’Lar turns a calm face to him.

“As it seems your medical equipment cannot detect the cause of the mother’s suffering, doctor, I must meld with her in order to evaluate her condition,” she explains evenly.

McCoy relaxes and allows Janice to push him back from the bed. T’Lar brings her fingertips to the side of Uhura’s face and closes her eyes. Uhura’s restlessness stills instantly. Silent moments pass with only the sound of the slowing beeping from the biofunction monitor. They all wait intently, not daring to say a word. Spock startles when Kirk wraps his hand with his own. Fear and anticipation mix into a potent concoction that fills Spock’s mind. In response, he sends a surge of comfort through their point of contact, and he feels Kirk press against his arm. Finally, T’Lar withdraws her hand and stands from the bed. The monitor quickly returns to its angry beeping.

“Well?” the doctor demands.

"The pregnancy will need to be terminated.”

“What?” Kirk exclaims, stepping forward.

Spock squeezes his hand in an attempt to stop his approach. He is not surprised by the conclusion, but he finds he is quite…saddened by the fact that his theory is proving to be correct.

“Upon conception, a bond is formed between a Vulcan child and its mother to ensure the success of the pregnancy,” T’Lar explains. “A Vulcan mother’s telepathic abilities aid the proper formation of the bond. The need for intervention in procreation between a Vulcan and a non-psi being is not only for physical reasons.”

“As the child was conceived without the aid of intervention, the bond has been tainted in its creation. The optimum outcome in this situation is the mother’s mind will degrade until she spirals into insanity and the child will not live long enough to be born. The worst outcome will result in the death of the mother and her child by next nightfall.”

Her words echo in the hollow of Kirk’s chest and reverberate to Spock through their joined hands. He feels the tremble in his body as he tries to process the information.

“Jim?” Uhura’s weak voice slices through the heavy tension in the room.

“Nyota,” Kirk answers gently, releasing Spock’s hand and going to her side. “I’m right here.”

Her dark eyes flood with tears, and Kirk takes her hand between both of his.

“I need to have an abortion,” she croaks, her chin trembling.

Kirk’s eyes flutter close, his own eyes brimming.

“Yes,” he replies quietly. “Something went wrong with the pregnancy, Nyota. It’s hurting you.”

“I know,” she whimpers softly, tears spilling down her cheeks; she looks to T’Lar. “She showed me.”

Uhura scoots closer to Kirk.

“I’m scared, Jim,” she whispers, squeezing his hand.

Kirk rubs his cheek against her fingers, tears running down his face.

“I know…I know,” he says, voice shaking.

Tears drip from his jaw as he pulls her up to his chest, wrapping his arms firmly around her. Uhura sobs against him as she grasps his shirt tightly, her whole body quaking.

“I’m so sorry, Nyota,” he weeps into her disheveled hair. “I’m so sorry…”

“Captain, we must act quickly before any more damage is done,” T’Lar speaks gently. “Doctor, I will require your assistance.”

Kirk hugs Uhura closer to him.

“I’ll be right outside, Nyota, okay?”

She nods faintly, and he loosens his arms around her. The others begin to make their way out of the examination room.

“I’ll be right outside,” he repeats, cupping her cheek and wiping away a tear with his thumb.

She nods again. Kirk rises to his feet and bends to kiss the top of her head. Spock swallows against the building lump in his throat. Kirk walks out of the room, followed by Spock, and the door softly slides closed behind them.

 

Kirk sits on the sofa with Janice leaning against him, fast asleep, and Spock on the other side of her. Sarek paces back and forth, an odd habit for a Vulcan.

It’s been hours since they left the examination room. There hasn’t been a sound or any indication whatsoever of what is happening behind that door. But they knew—they all knew what was happening. Kirk rubs Janice’s shoulder, more for his own comfort than hers, and she snuggles closer to him in her sleep. His eyelids grow heavier with each passing moment, and his body sinks deeper into the soft cushions of the sofa. He’s beyond tired, but he’d be damned if he fell asleep before he received an update on Uhura’s condition. He glances over at Spock, hoping for some sort of distraction.

The Vulcan is wedged into the corner of the sofa, his elbows propped up on the back and the arm with the forefinger and middle finger of each hand coming together at a peak, pressing against his full lips. His face is relaxed, eyes closed; if Kirk hadn’t known better, he would assume he is sleeping. He takes a moment to trace the slope of his pointed ear down to the soft shadow under his high cheekbone. He follows the line of his nose to his long lashes resting peacefully on his cheeks and his eyelids brushed with the blue eye shadow Janice keeps going on about. He smiles warmly at the man, his chest swelling with fondness. He wishes to lean against him, feel his strong heart beat on his side. He just needs to be closer. He must settle, however, where he is with a dozing Janice on him.

Kirk sighs, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. He glances over at Sarek when he notices the Vulcan has stopped his pacing. He stares at Kirk, his dark eyes wide and an eyebrow arched. Now he knows where Spock gets it. He looks up at the high ceiling, chucking quietly to himself before his worried thoughts return to cloud his mind. How quickly things had changed—in an instant. He can hardly believe that just a few hours ago he had danced with Spock at Lithios. Even more recently, he was standing on the boardwalk with Spock, feeling his heat and tasting his scent, thick and sweet like honey. He ached to be close to him. It’s a pull he’s felt since he was first introduced to the man upon arrival at Belaar, as irrational as that is. And only a few hours ago he was close, so close that his entire body seemed to sing with joy and anticipation.

In an instant it changed. In an instant his world crumbled in on itself as he watched Uhura scream in pain, the biofunction monitors beeping frantically, and McCoy’s words echoing in his head. He was so helpless, so useless. But Spock wasn’t. Without hesitation, Spock had acted. He brought the Vulcan high priestess to help. He saved Uhura.

Kirk turns his head to Spock still resting motionless in his spot on the sofa. His chest swells again until it aches, but this time with something deeper and far more intense. Spock’s eyelids slowly flutter open, turning his dark eyes to him. Unashamed that he’s just been caught staring, Kirk smiles softly, and Spock arches an eyebrow.

The door of the examination room then slides open with a quiet whoosh, and T’Lar, followed by McCoy, emerges from the doorway. The sight of the woman sends a shock as strong as a bolt of lightning through everyone in the room, and they all clamber to their feet. Kirk manages to catch the thoroughly confused and half-asleep Janice before she falls to the floor, but upon seeing the priestess, she bolts upright.

“It is done,” T’Lar announces solemnly. “She is resting now."

Kirk swallows against the painful lump in his throat.

“I will take my leave,” she says, and then turns to McCoy. “She will need time, doctor, as well as someone to look after her as she heals.”

The doctor nods his understanding. T’Lar gathers her robes in her hand and strides to the door of the medical center. Sarek joins her at her side.

“Spock,” he calls firmly. “Come.”

Kirk is about to protest, but after a moment’s hesitation, the Vulcan sweeps by him to follow his father. Kirk’s hand darts out involuntarily, brushing against his fingers. Spock pauses and steals a quick glimpse back at him. He gives Kirk a small smile, and reassurance pours into him. He then slips out the door and disappears into the twilight of the morning.

 

The journey back to the guests’ quarters is a silent one, but is charged with an uneasy energy. When Spock arrives at his parents’ quarters joined by Sarek and T’Lar, he’s practically wading in the agitation exuding from his father. They wait in the sitting area of the massive room while Sarek peeks in on his mother to ensure she is still asleep. His face is neutral, but his dark eyes burn with ire upon his return.

“You know who is the father, T’Lar.” It is not a question.

“Yes,” she admits freely.

“Who?” Sarek demands, not taking his gaze from Spock.

Spock already knows what he suspects. He could feel the accusation during their wait.

“I will not tell you who the father is, Serek; that information is not for you to know nor do you have the authority to demand it of me,” T’Lar argues. “But I will tell you that your son is not the father.”

Sarek purses his lips and his eyes narrow.

“I forbid you to see them again, Spock,” he declares gruffly. “It is inappropriate for a Vulcan to associate with humans in such a manner.”

Spock shifts his feet and clasps his hands behind his back. His thumb rests over his pulse point as a measure of how well he’s managing the rage sprouting within him.

“They are my friends, father,” he asserts steadily. “They have shown me great kindness during our time here.”

Sarek lashes out his arm, his robes whipping angrily with the motion.

“I forbid it!” he snaps. “Human emotions are a poison to the logic our people hold dear. They have already corrupted one of us; I will not allow them to contaminate you as well.”

“Contaminate?” Spock spits back in spite of his efforts to control himself. “I have been contaminated since conception, father. Mating with a human produces half-human offspring—or did you forget that fact?”

A loud crack rings out into the room as pain erupts across Spock’s face. The force of impact violently wrenched his head to the side, and he doesn’t move, his brain not able to process that his Vulcan father has just slapped him.

“You will not speak of your mother in such a way,” Sarek hisses; he steps closer to him. “See how the humans have distorted you already. I will not allow this to continue. You have a duty, Spock; the very reason we have ventured to this infectious planet. Your destiny is with Vulcan, and you will marry T’Pring. As my son, you will do as I say.”

Spock finally brings his face forward, his cheek pulsing painfully. His breaths come in even intervals, though his thumb is now digging into his wrist. Serek’s eyes bore into his own as if his look alone could eradicate the influence of the humans. He takes a few moments until his heart rate slows.

“Yes, father,” he finally answers as diplomatically as he is able.

He then turns on his heels and leaves his father’s quarters in smooth, even strides without another word.

 

Sarek watches Spock exit the room, his hand still throbbing from its blow against his son’s cheek. T’Lar, who has been watching the entire scene in silence, comes to his side.

“It is illogical what you are doing, Serek, and you are aware of it,” she lectures steadily. “You cannot keep them apart; it is the will of the universe. The universe has a tendency to fulfill its desires regardless of our own efforts. They are th—”

“Not another word, T’Lar, please,” Serek’s voice is even, yet firm. “This mating bond must be consummated. For too long my family has suffered due to my selfishness and lack of control—Spock especially…”

His shoulders sag as he exhales.

“This marriage with ensure that Spock has a more preferable status in Vulcan. He has been cast down due to his mixed blood…” he gazes down at T’Lar. “It will be the best for him. His destiny lies with T’Pring.”

T’Lar pulls her hood over her head.

“As I said, the universe has a tendency to get what it wants,” she mutters calmly, then exits the room.

Sarek stares after her, and for the first time in his life, he is at a loss for words.


	11. Chapter 11

Kirk drags his feet along the boardwalk, his damp shirt clinging uncomfortably to his overheated skin. The water sloshes against the support posts, and the sun hangs low in the sky, staining the smattering of clouds with various shades of pink and gold. His body droops with fatigue of from his evening dance lesson, but something more melancholy itches beneath the surface. He hasn’t seen Spock or even received word from him since he followed his father out of the medical center three nights ago. His father…the Vulcan ambassador came to the medical center, revealing that his son had been consorting with the staff. Surely he must be infuriated, which could explain Spock’s sudden absence.

Being kept in the dark was keeping him awake at night with anxiety over imagined scenarios. Perhaps Serek was keeping his son under lock and key for the duration of their stay. Would he be prohibited from seeing Spock again? Kirk’s heart sinks into his stomach at the thought as he reaches the door to his quarters. He waves his combadge over the door, and it slides open with ease. Darkness fills the room with only a soft glow through the windows from the setting sun outside.

“Computer, lights at 30%,” he orders, tossing his combadge onto the small table on his right.

The lights rise to a mild level and illuminate a figure sitting at the edge of his bed across the room. Kirk’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest.

“Spock!”

Spock springs up from the bed dressed head-to-toe in tight-fitting black clothing, making him look like a burglar. He even has a black beanie pulled down over his ears.

“Jim,” Spock greets him, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Kirk closes the space between them within seconds and pulls the Vulcan into a firm embrace without hesitation. Spock stiffens, but he quickly relaxes into his arms, squeezing him tighter. Kirk buries his face into Spock’s neck, inhaling deeply until his senses are filled with his scent and every worry and sorrow clinging to him washes away. His body, his soul, seems to hum with joy at the touch. He’s not sure how long they’ve stood there, silently holding each other like this, but eventually—reluctantly— Kirk pulls away and takes a step back.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again,” he admits quietly, studying every bit of his face as if the fear might still come true.

Kirk’s eyes land on a mark across his cheekbone. The color has faded to a mottled mixture of yellow and olive, but the bruise still contrasts harshly against his pale green skin.

“Spock…” he whispers, reaching up to gently caress the sensitive spot with his fingertips.

Spock grasps his hand with his own.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Jim, but I…I had to see you,” he confesses. “I can’t explain it, but I needed to see you again.”

Kirk smiles warmly.

“I’m glad you did, Mr. Spock,” he says. “I never got the chance to say thank you.”

Spock arches an eyebrow at him.

“Oh? What for, Jim?”

Kirk steps closer, his hand still in Spock’s to his side.

“That night in the medical center…I was lost…Nyota was dying and I panicked; I didn’t know what to do,” he swallows down the still fresh memories and continues. “But you did, Spock. You saved her life.”

Spock’s eyebrows scrunch together, confused.

“Nyota has shown me nothing but kindness since my arrival here; I consider her to be my friend,” he explains steadily. “And she was in pain; as you said, she was dying. What else could I have done?”

And there it is—that spark. That spirit he witnessed in the studio while Spock danced Terran ballet, the excitement as he soared in the lift, the fire he felt on the walk back from Lithios… That emotion had finally bubbled up to the surface and now glitters brightly in his dark eyes and darkens his cheeks. Kirk feels a surge in his chest like a tidal wave, electrifying him in a way he’s never experienced before.

Before he can stop himself, he clutches Spock’s firm biceps and his lips crash into his in an inelegant kiss. His lips are so hot and soft, more delightful than anything he could have anticipated, and a small groan rumbles in his throat. It’s like the first crack of thunder in a storm—frightening and exhilarating all wrapped into one seemingly simple act. Kirk slowly pulls away, his heart pounding in his chest. Spock’s wide, dark eyes meet him, his pink mouth parted in shock. Reality suddenly comes crashing down.

“Mr. Spock, I- I am so sorry,” Kirk stutters quickly. “I over stepped my bounds. My behavior has been abhorrent! I apol—”

His words come to an abrupt halt as Spock’s fingers slip under his chin, and he tilts his face up. His eyebrows stitch together like he’s examining a new species.

“Fascinating,” he whispers.

And then his lips press firmly against his.

Thoroughly confused, but invigorated by the reciprocation, Kirk grasps desperately at Spock’s arms, pulling him closer until their bodies are flush with one another. He prods Spock’s lips with the tip of his tongue until he understands the intention and opens his mouth to allow entrance. And Kirk takes it. He delves deep into that wet, sweltering heat, stroking against the Vulcan’s clumsy—though enthusiastic—tongue. His hands take advantage of the opportunity to reacquaint themselves with his body in a way very different from dancing. Kirk groans as incredibly strong Vulcan hands follow his lead and slip hungrily over his chest, stomach, back…everywhere like he’s committing every part of him to memory. Spock burns like a furnace, aflame with an invisible fire, scorching him with every touch.

Without separating, Kirk directs Spock back until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he topples onto it. He grabs the hem of his shirt and peels it off overhead, tossing it carelessly to the side. Spock stares up at him, eyes wide, but filled with barely contained hunger. Oh—Kirk would love nothing more than to crack that open until everything pours out, until Spock is just a puddle in his hands. He kneels on the bed between his long legs and crawls up like a predator on the prowl. Spock’s breathing quickens as Kirk pulls off the beanie, ruffling his usually impeccable hair and captures his mouth in another searing kiss.

A bold hand dips below the fabric of the Vulcan’s shirt, fingertips grazing fiery skin. Spock moans into his mouth, hot and unashamed, and Kirk realizes how achingly hard he is in his uniform pants. He hikes Spock’s shirt up until the hem his at his chin, exposing the expanse of his torso. Kirk smiles at the cover of thick, dark hair over his chest with a narrow stripe leading down his abdomen. His fingers weave into the coarse strands as he has in countless fantasies since he learned of its existence. His hand brushes lightly over a hardened nipple and Spock almost knocks him off the bed with the near violent arch of his back.

“Hhmmm,” Kirk hums devilishly, locating the spot once more.

He dives in quickly, latching his mouth to the sensitive nub.

“Ah! Jim!” Spock’s voice is raspy in his throat. “Jim, wait!”

Kirk halts his ministrations immediately, pulling his lips away with a wet pop, making Spock gasp.

“Yes?” Kirk inquires gently, still bent over him, propped up on his hands.

Spock takes a few shaky breaths and swallows nervously. Concern seeps through the intense desire filling Kirk’s head.

“I’ve never done… _this_ before, Jim.”

Kirk’s eyebrows cinch together.

“This? You mean with a human male?” he asks.

“With anyone.”

“…Oh.”

He sits back slightly on his heels, suddenly unsure of himself. Spock stares up at him as if he is afraid of what he might say.

“Spock,” Kirk starts. “…Are you sure you want me to be your first? Surely—”

“There is no other being in this universe I could desire more in this moment, Jim,” Spock replies firmly. “I do have a suitable knowledge of…sexual intercourse between humanoid beings, but I am being reminded very quickly that understanding a concept in theory is not the same as conducting it in practice…”

Spock glances away, his cheeks darkening to a deep sage.

“I am unsure what to do, Jim,” he murmurs shyly.

After a moment, Kirk smiles broadly, rubbing his hand gently over Spock’s right side. He climbs higher up the bed, up the Vulcan’s body until his face is directly above him.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Spock,” he tells him, and Spock brings his eyes up to meet him.

Kirk lowers down and nudges Spock’s jaw with his nose until he turns slightly, exposing the length of his pale neck. Kirk gently laves at the vulnerable skin, dipping into deep creases and feeling the pulse of hot Vulcan blood just under the surface. His mouth travels up until it catches an earlobe between his teeth. He nibbles at the flesh, and then traces the shell of his ear with his tongue up to the pointed tip. Spock whines softly, a beautiful sound that Kirk is determined to draw from him again and again.

“Don’t analyze, don’t theorize, don’t even think, Mr. Spock,” he breathes into his ear. “Just lay back and let me take care of you…”

Spock moans into the crook of his neck, making Kirk grin.

“Put your arms up,” he tells him quietly, and Spock does as he’s told.

Kirk grabs his shirt and pulls it over his head, relishing the bareness of the man beneath him. He kisses along his sharp jawline, down the column of his throat, and traces his tongue over his delicate collarbone. He rubs his cheek into the thick cover of hair like an animal, breathing heavy against his skin. His fingers slip over his body as he listens to every hitch in his breath, every uptick in Spock’s heart, every moan until the man is writhing beneath him.

“Jim,” Spock sighs, cheeks flushed dark and lips swollen from their abuse.                  Kirk drags his mouth down his stomach to a protruding hipbone. He nips gently at it, and Spock whimpers.

“Such lovely sounds you make, Mr. Spock,” Kirk murmurs into his lower belly.           Reluctant to separate himself from the other man, he hops up from the bed. He removes his boots and pants before doing the same for Spock, leaving Kirk in his boxer briefs and Spock in a scant cover of cloth resembling undergarments. He then slips back between his legs. Spock opens them eagerly, drawing him in with his strong thighs and massaging at his back with his hands. Kirk seals his mouth against his lips, and Spock parts them, allowing him entrance. Kirk licks into his pliant mouth, drunk on the taste of him—dark and slightly sweet like aged port wine. He gives an experimental grind of his hips, pressing his straining cock against Spock. The Vulcan keens, lifting his hips for more contact, and he’s a little surprised to find the spot completely soaked.

Kirk slides down the bed and takes the cloth low on Spock’s hips in his hands. He locks his gaze with the man above him, Spock’s dark eyes shimmering with anticipation under hooded lids. He slowly pulls the cloth down, down, and casts it off to the floor. A rigid member springs free and bobs from the movement. It’s strangely similar to a human cock—long and thick with heavy balls resting patiently to be utilizes— except for its dark green hue and the ridges along the entire length of the shaft. It’s also completely coated in a clear fluid with a violet tinge.

“Do I…please you?” Spock asks nervously from the bed.

Kirk glances up at him briefly, cheeks burning after he realizes he’s been staring.

“Spock,” he breathes and drops down between his legs.

Without warning, he licks a broad stripe up the underside of his cock, tongue undulating with each ridge, and the clear liquid pooling in his mouth.

“Ah!” Spock cries out, his fingers tangling in Kirk’s hair.

The fluid tastes of something earthy and metallic—like the flavor caught on the back of the tongue during a thunderstorm just before the rain begins to fall. Kirk wraps his lips around the top, massaging the sensitive tip. The hands in his hair tighten. He swallows down until his cock hits the back of his throat, proud of his ability to do so without choking. He hollows his cheeks and sucks up along his length before sinking back down. Spock is a mess of sighs and moans. Prodding with his tongue, Kirk discovers the liquid is produced from small glands beneath the ridges. He continues his slow torture and slurps up the fluid, flowing freely into his mouth now. He also learns that with increased arousal, the ridges lining Spock’s shaft flare out, catching against his lips. He pulls off with a slick pop, making Spock whine loudly.

“Oh, Spock, you are more than pleasing; I could do this for an eternity…”

A groan comes in answer, and Kirk smiles. He then drops down lower, locating his tight entrance. He licks gently at the furled muscle.

“Jim!” Spock cries out, grasping at Kirk’s locks like he’s falling, tugging him closer.

Kirk chuckles, his breath hot against him.

“A little impatient, hm?” he teases, giving him another broad lick.

“Jim, please,” Spock begs, voice rough.

The human takes hold of the Vulcan’s hard cock in a tight grip and strokes firmly up then down. The fluid spills generously over his fingers, and Spock’s breaths escape in quick pants between his lips. Kirk flattens his tongue against him, dragging it up in a wet stripe while continuing to pump his hand. Once it’s completely coated in the liquid, he slowly pushes one finger in past the tight ring of Spock’s entrance, knuckle by knuckle, until it’s fully inside. Kirk startles as more clear liquid pours into his hand.

“It’s a remnant of our evolution,” Spock gasps aloud after he notices Kirk’s confusion. “In our early years—ah!— it was necessary for survival…to bond with other males…”

Kirk groans loudly, palming at his own aching cock once he realizes what Spock is trying to explain to him. _Self-lubrication_. His mouth returns to the rigid member above, sucking down hard as he slips his finger in and out with renewed enthusiasm.

“ _Uhn_ , Jim, yes, please,” Spock babbles, his eyes squeezed shut.

The Vulcan’s chest rises and falls with labored moans, his back arching off the bed desperately. Kirk slides in another finger, moaning around the cock filling his mouth when it meets no resistance. He squeezes the base of his own shaft—fuck, how did he get so close so fast?

In no time at all, he’s pumping three fingers inside the Vulcan, his ass pliant and sopping with the clear fluid. He pulls his hand away and removes his boxer briefs. He sighs with relief as his cock springs free, the summer night heat feeling cool against his burning skin. He pushes back against Spock’s thighs and wraps a leg over his arm. Breathing heavily, Spock’s dark eyes watch his every move, adjusting himself the best he can. His body is practically humming with anticipation. Kirk presses the tip of his cock against him and he can already feel the furnace waiting inside.

“Are you sure, Spock?” he rasps, barely keeping his voice steady. “I need to know now; I don’t think I cou—”

Kirk makes a choked off sound as Spock’s legs press against his lower back while lifting his hips, pushing him passed the ring of muscle and right into his wet, scorching hole.

“Oh, Spock!” Kirk growls, gripping the sheets below with one hand and the Vulcan’s thigh with the other.

He pauses for a moment to collect himself before opening his eyes, not realizing he had been squeezing them shut. Spock stares up at him, his blue eyelids low.

“Jim,” he murmurs, his voice shaking.

Kirk cups the side of his face with his hand, and the Vulcan nuzzles into his palm. He pulls back until he’s almost all the way out before pushing back into his velvety hole. A gasp escapes Spock’s mouth, and Kirk chases it down with a wet, filthy kiss. He slowly pumps his hips, grinding deep with a few opening strokes before setting a steady rhythm. Spock squeezes him with the incredibly strong muscles of his ass, milking his cock with each thrust.

“Fuck, Spock,” Kirk groans against his lips.

He weaves his fingers into the silky strands of black hair, clutching at it while licking into his panting mouth. Kirk drives into him, his pace quickening as his desire pools in his belly like molten iron. Spock whimpers with the forceful thrusts, gripping at Kirk’s back for dear life. Something then ignites between them, something the human can’t really explain, like fire and electricity all rolled into one, coursing through their veins, pulling them impossibly closer to each other. Spock arches off the bed, crying out his name as his hole flutters around him. A deep blue fluid erupts from his cock trapped between their dripping, moving bodies, smearing with each thrust.

“Spock,” Kirk whimpers, driving in deep as he topples over the edge, hips stuttering, draining into him.

He collapses in an exhausted heap on top of the Vulcan, suddenly without the strength to hold himself. His head rises and falls with each of Spock’s heavy breaths, and he listens to the loud hum of his heartbeat against his ear as he slowly floats back down to his body. He finally manages to lift himself on shaky limbs, his stomach and chest sticky from the mixture of bodily fluids between them. Spock gazes up at him, his dark eyes glossy under long lashes. Kirk stumbles to the bathroom to retrieve a towel. When he returns, he washes Spock’s pale skin with the warm, damp corner, cleaning up every bit of the colorful smears before doing the same to himself. He then tosses the towel to the floor and climbs back onto the bed with a very relaxed Vulcan.

“You look quite well for a man who’s been utterly destroyed, Mr. Spock,” he murmurs with a small grin, pulling a thin sheet over the two of them.

Spock’s eyelids flutter closed and his lips pull into a wide smile, cheeks darkening to a deep sage. Kirk runs his fingers through the Vulcan’s damp, disheveled locks, pushing them up from his shimmering face. Spock’s eyes open, and he leans into the touch.

“Come here,” Kirk orders gently.

He shifts as Spock cuddles up against his side, and he wraps his arms tightly around him. The hum of his heartbeat vibrates softly into his ribcage. Kirk rubs his thumb along his shoulder while staring up at the ceiling; his body light and his mind clear with the flood of endorphins in his veins. His eyebrows scrunch together when a low noise begins to rumble from Spock.

“Spock?” he whispers, looking down at the top of his head. “Are…are you _purring_?”

“Mmmm,” answers the Vulcan sleepily, snuggling into his chest.

Kirk chuckles, squeezing him tighter and plants a soft kiss on his forehead. He then leans his head back against his plush pillows and let’s sleep take him.


	12. Chapter 12

Spock squeezes his eyes tighter, frustration bubbling up his throat. He inhales deeply in an attempt to quiet his mind…without success. There’s an ache deep within him that twinges with his every move, especially in the position he is sitting for meditation. His head fills with memories of the night before…the sensation of the human kiss…the stretch of his body as Kirk fills him… It was like nothing he had ever experienced before. His body sang with every touch, calling out for more. His skin was a flame and his blood sizzled with electricity. And it was all caused by a _human_. No, by Jim. _Jim_.

Spock’s chest swells with warmth at the thought of the man. He had been so afraid at first, at what he might think upon learning of his inexperience as a lover and of his differing anatomy. There was some hesitation, he sensed, as Kirk processed his new discoveries about him, but it was brief and completely benevolent. He had never felt so safe, so cared for…so cherished.

He sighs, finally accepting the fact that meditation is hopeless. He decided to endeavor at the practice after Kirk left that morning to teach his early dance class, but sitting in his quarters where only a few short hours ago he lay writhing and panting beneath him…he can’t get the man out of his head. He rises to his feet, collecting his clothes still strewn about the floor. He dresses and runs his hands over his hair to smooth the unruly strands. He needs to get out of this room if he wishes any chance of coherent thought. All he truly desires, however, is to stay in bed all day, warm and full, being wrung out until he is completely depleted of energy. But with Kirk gone, to his disappointment, that is no longer a possibility.

Spock pulls on his boots and walks out the door onto the boardwalk. He stares out at the water in the early afternoon sunshine, listening to the thumps of his own footsteps against the wood. A mass of yellow flowers similar to Terran sunflowers sway happily in the gentle breeze. He remembers Uhura bending down to sniff at them when they were just beginning to bloom. She mentioned they were her favorite of the flora growing on the grounds.

_Nyota._

He smiles down at the golden petals. Under other circumstances, he would leave the flowers be, to grow and fade in their natural cycle, but something odd tickles at his mind, something he's never really felt before. His long fingers take hold of one of the delicate stems, and it snaps easily under his strength. He brings it to his face and inhales deeply. If sunshine had a smell, this would be it. He examines its fuzzy brown middle, eyebrows cinching together. What is happening to him? Sentiment? Worry? Affection? All these emotions he once could contain with ease…and now? He holds the thin stem of the delicate flower between his forefinger and thumb. And now he’s just plucked a flower, severing it from its life source and condemning it to an accelerated death. And for what? To possess it? To hold it? To give it away? This all is quite worrisome alone for a Vulcan without even mentioning the fact that last night he made love to someone other than his intended…a human, no less… Illogical—very illogical, indeed.

Spock sniffs at the flower again, delighting in the sweet scent despite his inner turmoil. It would be a shame to waste such an exceptional specimen. Perhaps he could stop by the medical center to assess Uhura’s condition—to ensure she’s healing properly, of course. Clinging to that fragile resolve, he continues down the boardwalk, flower in hand.

 

The door to the medical center swishes open, and Kirk walks inside. The waiting area, and McCoy’s desk, is empty, so he makes his way back to the examination room. He pauses outside the door when he hears the deep rumble of a very familiar voice. He smiles softly to himself and steps forward to enter.

“ _I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through long years to come, I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out. . . .I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man winning his way up in that path of life, which once was mine. I see him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the light of his. . . .It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known._ ”

He stands silent, watching Spock read the words from the book in his hands. Uhura lays on the biobed with Nurse Chapel in a plush armchair at her side. Janice sits in her own armchair, legs tucked up underneath her, and Doctor McCoy leans up against the back wall. All their eyes are glued to the Vulcan as he recites the final lines of his story, completely and totally enraptured. Not a sound is made, but the energy in the room is powerful enough to subdue. Janice is the first to notice him at the doorway.

“Hi, Jim,” she greets, and the others turn their attention to him.

He gives her a smile in response before turning his focus back to Spock.

“I have read that story many times, Mr. Spock, enough to have nearly every line committed to memory, but hearing you read it like that…it’s like experiencing for the first time,” he says quietly.

The Vulcan stares at him, his face neutral to the untrained eye, but Kirk sees the delight glittering in his dark eyes.

“That’s very kind of you, Jim,” he replies warmly.

Kirk’s smile widens and after a moment, he turns to Uhura lying on the bed.

“How are you feeling, Nyota?” he asks, coming to her side in front of where Spock is seated next to her.

Her hair is down and fans out around her head like a crown, and her face is completely bare of her usual makeup, making her look younger…more vulnerable. She grins up at him, her eyes shimmering.

“Fine, Jim, fine; I’m doing even better since Spock here decided to pay me a visit and share the last chapter of his book with me,” she tells him. “Look, he even brought me a flower!”

She points to the single yellow bloom resting in a narrow, simple vase on the nightstand. Kirk raises his eyebrows at Spock.

“A flower, Spock?”

Spock glances away, his cheeks flushing.

“I accidentally picked the blossom and decided it was only logical not to waste such a specimen,” he counters, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Hmm…”

“I was also discussing with Spock the possibility of filling in for me for the Belaar performance at the end of the month. According to the good doctor, I’ll still be on medical leave during that time,” Uhura interjects, casting a sideways glance at McCoy against the wall. “What do you think, Jim?”

“Spock? As my partner for another performance?” he exclaims, beaming at the Vulcan. “I would be honored.”

He claps a hand onto Spock’s shoulder and gives it a small squeeze. It takes everything he has to keep from bending down to kiss those pink lips. Judging by the quick flicker in his eyes, Spock is considering the same thing.

“Good, that’s settled,” Uhura announces. “I don’t mean to kick everyone out so abruptly, but I’d like to rest a little now. The medication McCoy has me on makes me pretty sleepy.”

“Of course,” Kirk replies, bending down to kiss her forehead. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Nyota.”

She takes his hand between both of his and gives it a peck, her dark eyes expressing her affection without words.

“And thank you, Mr. Spock; I thoroughly enjoyed your company,” she tells him.

“My pleasure, Nyota.”

“Alright, you hoodlums, let’s clear out,” McCoy shoos them.

Janice kisses Uhura on both cheeks before the doctor herds her to the door along with the others, followed by Nurse Chapel. Out in the waiting room, Kirk turns to McCoy.

“Update?” he requests.

McCoy brings his hands behind his back with a smile.

“She’s healing up nicely, Jim; I’m keeping her on medical leave until the end of the month as a precaution. There’s no need to drive her back into my care because we were overly hopeful in her recovery time,” he explains. “But I’ve heard through the grapevine that you and Mr. Spock put on quite a show at Lithios. Seems you two make a good pair.”

Kirk glances at Spock with a wide grin, the Vulcan’s eyes glimmering in answer.

“I couldn’t agree more.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Hmmn, yes, just like that, Spock, just like that…”

Kirk pants next to his ear, clutching him against his chest. Spock straddles his hips on the studio floor where they had collapsed, unable to restrain themselves any longer.

“At this rate, Jim— ah! — we won’t have a dance to perform,” Spock breathes, his thighs trembling as he bounces up and down.

They slide together easily with the sheen of sweat over Kirk’s skin mixed with the fluid dripping from Spock’s hard erection. Spock clenches his hole with each upstroke and bores down with each down-stroke, finding that not only did it produce the most electrifying sensation, but it also makes Kirk whimper helplessly into his collarbone.

“I am only human,” Kirk moans. “How could I resist you, Mr. Spock, now that I know how you taste, how you sound, hunhmm, how you feel around my cock…”

Spock groans loudly, tangling his fingers in silky, caramel locks, leaning his arms on broad, strong shoulders as he moves up and down in sinuous strokes. His blood roars in his ears, desire pooling thick in his mind.

“Oooh, Jim,” Spock whines, making the man sitting beneath him nuzzle his nose into the crook of his neck. “So…so good.”

Kirk cants his hips up the best he can in his position, managing to find the small bundle of nerves inside him. Spock cries out, grasping at the man’s back. He feels Kirk smile against his skin, and he drives his hips up again, a little harder this time. He hits his target dead-on, and Spock feels the now familiar tight spring coiling deep in his belly. Kirk’s thrusts quicken at the sound of Spock’s desperate moans and the flutter of his sloppy wet hole stretched around his cock.

“Oh, Spock, yes, come for me,” Kirk gasps, somehow sensing his impending release. “Please come for me.”

Like a detonation, Spock throws his head back, crying out as the spring releases. Fluid spills generously from his leaking cock, painting Kirk’s chest with stripes of blue and violet.

“Oh, fuck,” Kirk sobs an octave higher than usual.

Spock clutches him to his chest as his cock pumps furiously into his still shuddering hole. A couple more thrusts, and with a strangled moan, he feels Kirk filling him deep inside. They squeeze one another tightly, panting, not daring to let go until their heart rates begin to slow.

Spock brings his head back to look at the human beneath him, his mind still swirling. Honey eyes are glazed over under long, dark eyelashes and his lips are swollen to a deep shade of pink. He’s absolutely beautiful. His chest swells until it aches, and Spock’s mouth opens before he’s even aware of what he needs to say. He freezes suddenly, catching his voice in his throat.

In his mind, as bright and clear as day, there they are—those three words:

_I love you._

A phrase he has never even been able to say to his mother. They are just sitting there at the tip of his tongue only a small push of his lungs away for a man he's known for a blink in his lifetime. No. It seems longer than that. His conscious self may not have known him at first, but his soul, his _katra_ , came to life when they met. _There you are, my…_

_T’hy’la._

"Spock?" Kirk's voice slips into his mind like a summer breeze, flooding it until his thoughts begin to wash away. "What is it?"

His gentle hand caresses his back, trying to soothe the turmoil Spock is certain he can see on his face. He understands now. It isn’t the planet troubling his mind, dismantling slowly, piece by piece, the mental shields he has spent a lifetime to build. No…it’s something he’s only read in ancient histories of his people…a word so powerful and also so terrifying...right here beneath him, covered in his fluids and staring up at him with concern. Spock can't decide which is more disturbing—this realization or the fact that he isn't as frightened by the discovery as he should be.

“Hey, I don’t have classes tonight; why don’t we get cleaned up and go for a stroll around the grounds?” Kirk suggests hopefully.

Spock, emerging from his smothering thoughts, nods gently. Kirk gives him a soft smile and brings his lips to his in an incredibly tender kiss. The man’s thumb strokes lovingly against his cheek, his golden eyes glittering up at him. He gives him one last, quick kiss before Spock rises to his feet, his legs still trembling. Kirk carefully comes up after him, stretching stiff muscles. The human then takes his hand and gently leads him toward the showers.

 

The evening air is beginning to cool from the afternoon sun as Spock strolls next to Kirk at a leisurely pace. Fresh blooms waft their scent in the breeze, stirring up a sweet floral concoction. Kirk watches the leaves flutter lazily, spotting a firefly here and there as they emerge for the night. Spock stares down at the stones paving their path, his eyebrows furrowed.

It is impossible; it must be. Vulcans are a race unto themselves, with disciplines and traditions that pulled them from the brink of extinction during their time of _riyeht-kashik_. Not only is it illogical to experience these…feelings for the captain, _a human_ , it is impossible…it must be. He is to marry T’Pring by summer’s end when the negations prove to be successful, as he suspects they will be. He will marry her and will take his place as apprentice to the director of the Vulcan Science Academy, preparing for his future of educating the next generation of their people. As the prophecy foretells, so it will be.

The thought brings an unpleasant twinge to Spock’s stomach, and Kirk, who has been covertly watching him from the corner of his eye, wraps his fingers around his hand. The sensation climbing up his arm washes over him like a rainstorm after a long drought. The chaos of his mind settles to a low hum.

“Spock, there is something troubling you greatly, and I can’t seem to reason out what it could be,” Kirk asseverates, squeezing his hand gently. “Talk to me. Please.”

Spock stares at the human, unsure how to respond. There are a multitude of words he wants to say and those he should say, currently at war with one another his head.

“Aww, the half-breed was able to win the affections of the human captain; how _excruciatingly_ predictable. I understand now why your presence has been scarce around the guest quarters, Spock.”

Spock spins around at the voice, heart pounding in his ribcage like a war drum.

 _Stonn_.


	14. Chapter 14

“Excuse me? I didn’t quite catch that,” Kirk challenges, turning his body to the intruder.

A strong hand splays across his chest.

“Please, Jim, this is Stonn, aide to Director Solen. He is not worth the risk,” Spock cautions him quietly.

“I know who he is, Spock—a coward and a rat.”

Stonn steps forward, confidence in his control of the situation giving a light sway to his feet. Two other male Vulcans flank him, sneering from behind. He looks Kirk up and down, taking his time to inspect him. He then turns his glare to Spock.           

“He’s quite fiery, Spock; I understand the appeal…to a half-breed,” Stonn taunts.

“Use that word again, and I will personally ensure you lose the ability to speak,” Kirk growls darkly from Spock’s side.

Spock feels the intense animosity radiating from the human beside him, making his own heart quicken its pace. If the air were not so charged with barely restrained odium, he would allow himself to be pleased with Kirk’s reply. Stonn raises his eyebrows at him with a malicious smile spreading across his face.

“Threatening one of your guests, Captain? I’m shocked,” he shoots back sarcastically. “I congratulate you, Spock, on your conquest; the captain here has proven to be difficult prey, but somehow you’ve won him. Perhaps if I had tainted blood flowing through my veins, I may have been able to acquire a more acceptable plaything than the first officer.”

Kirk’s body turns to ice, paralyzing him for a few heartbeats before he’s reignited into a scorching fire. The fury floods into Spock like a tidal wave.

“ _You_.”

Stonn smirks down at Kirk, arching an eyebrow at the vague accusation.

“Excuse me?”

“It was _you_ , you son of a bitch.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Spock sees Kirk’s fist trembling at his side. Through the anger and the hatred clouding his mind he finally grasps the meaning behind his words—Stonn was the father of Uhura’s child.

“You almost killed her,” Kirk snarls, his voice shaking.

Stonn huffs at him before glancing at Spock.

“Would you mind keeping your pet on a leash?” he spits. “These animals can be dangerously volatile.”

Kirk’s fist smashes against Stonn’s jaw with a loud crack, and the thick tension erupts into chaos. The other two Vulcans spring into action, moving to tackle the fragile human with their superior strength, but Spock moves like a flash of lightning to intercept. He shoves Kirk away from their clawing hands as he kicks out with his leg, hitting one of the other Vulcans solidly in the chest. He goes flying across the grass and lands in an undignified heap. He spins to catch the other’s cheekbone with his knuckles, causing his head to snap back violently from the blow.

A short distance away, Kirk, who managed to slip through the commotion, pins Stonn against the ground by the collar of his tunic, his knee crushing into his chest. The Vulcan’s face is covered with green gore pouring profusely from a gash above his eye.

“SHE WAS PREGNANT, YOU BASTARD! SHE COULD HAVE DIED!” Kirk roars, eyes wide and wild in his frenzy, as he punches at the limp face below him. “YOU ALMOST KILLED HER!”

“ _What?_ ” Stonn sputters weakly, his eyes wide, as more blood drips from his split lip.

Spock rushes to the man, dodging the flailing limbs. He catches him around the chest, using his strength to subdue him and lift him from the other Vulcan.

“Jim, JIM!” Spock shouts, dragging him away from the scene.

He notices an impressive periorbital hematoma blooming on his bronzed skin, and the man stumbles, struggling to regain his footing. His chest heaves with labored breath, fury roiling within. Spock pulls Kirk along the stone path towards the medical center nearby. His bruise is darker already.

Doctor McCoy glances up as he enters without the courtesy of a warning. He jumps up from his seat at his desk at the sight of bright red blood seeping from Kirk’s nose.

“What on God’s green earth happened?!” he shouts, running to aid Spock in dragging him to the examination room.

The doctor plops Kirk down on the empty biobed.

“Where’s Nyota?” Kirk slurs.

“She’s on a walk through the forest with Nurse Chapel,” McCoy answers rapidly, grabbing his tricorder, a case of bandages and some sort of ointment from his medical cabinet. “Mind enlightening me on what the hell is going on?”

“We encountered the Vulcan Stonn during our stroll. It was discovered he is the one who fathered Nyota’s child, perhaps unknowingly under the circumstances, and the finding seemed to short-circuit something in Jim’s brain. I believe the human phrase is “he saw red”,” Spock explains calmly, glancing down at Kirk as McCoy hovers the small scanner over his head. “Violence ensued.”

McCoy pauses, staring up at him.

“A fight? With a Vulcan? I had no idea it was possible to break that cool, collected shell.”

Spock clasps his hands behind his back, struggling to keep from fidgeting his frustratingly idle hands as Kirk winces at the ointment being applied to the dark wine-colored contusion encircling his left eye. His pain reverberates through Spock like a shockwave.

“Stonn is a young Vulcan, doctor; younger Vulcans tend to have a more difficult time controlling emotions without experience and discipline. Unfortunately, they also can be known to succumb to emotion if the situation allows it,” he says, and then subtly shifts his feet. “Is he alright, doctor?”

McCoy sighs and places his tricorder on the tray next to him.

“He doesn’t have a concussion or any internal bleeding, so yeah, he’ll be fine,” the doctor reports. “But he’s gonna have a pretty black eye and one hell of a headache in the morning.”

Kirk lifts his head slightly.

Thank you, Bones,” he says politely, stealing a quick glimpse at Spock. “Would you mind giving us a moment?”

McCoy glances cautiously between the two of them before rising to his feet.

“Sure, Jim; I’ll just be at my desk,” he says, and then exists the room.

A long silence stretches between them. Spock watches the human closely, feeling a deep slice of shame in his mind. Kirk’s eyes are cast down to the floor, his head bowed.

“I’m sorry, Spock,” he whispers finally. “I shouldn’t have behaved the way I did. I was boorish and completely out of line. I shouldn’t have lost control like that.”

He looks up at Spock, his eye peeking through his swollen eyelid.

“I’m sorry I did that to you.”

Spock closes his eyes momentarily and takes a deep breath through his nose. It had to happen now.

“I understand your reasons for doing so, but perhaps this is for the best,” he states steadily, his face neutral.

Kirk’s eyebrows scrunch together, and his head tilts slightly to the side.

“Explain.”

Spock draws his shoulders back in order to reinforce his resolve and swallows at his dry throat.

“We should no longer see each other, Captain.”

The effect is instant. Like a deep freeze clinging to his blood, Spock feels Kirk’s shock at his words. The human’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again as he tries desperately to find the right words to say. A new onslaught of emotions begins to well up inside his mind, pressing and roiling, and Spock imparts as much power he can muster into shielding himself against it.

“Why?” Kirk eventually asks, his voice laced with hurt.

“The answer is obvious, Captain. I am a Vulcan, the son of the Vulcan ambassador bonded to the Vulcan daughter of the director of the Vulcan Science Academy,” Spock replies coldly, his thoughts steady with feeble mental shields in place despite the turmoil pounding against them. “I will wed T’Pring by summer’s end and return to my home world to take my place as the director’s apprentice. Although our time together has been an…illuminating experience, it is illogical to continue this relationship.”

Kirk stares up at him, his golden eyes wide and his lips parted in disbelief.

“Just like that?”

Spock swallows before staring straight ahead in an effort to maintain his control.

“As I explained, Captain, it is the only logical choice.”

“And what of your choice?” Kirk asks quietly, searching Spock’s face for any trace of the Vulcan he knew.

“It does not matter. This is what must be done.”

Spock finally meets Kirk’s gaze, successfully holding himself in check.

“I am pleased that your injuries are not severe,” he states evenly. “Perhaps we will meet again during our return to Vulcan. Farewell, Captain.”

And with that, Spock spins around and walks through the door, leaving Kirk alone in the suffocating hollow of the examination room.


	15. Chapter 15

Kirk gazes out at the violet waters from his spot on the boardwalk, leaning against the railing on his forearms. The evening air is still humid and sticky from the afternoon sunshine, but the light breeze gives him some relief as it rustles his loose tunic. The sun sits on the horizon, igniting the water before him into a vibrant maroon. He tries not to think about lifting Spock in the pond, about the electricity that courses through him each time they touch. He struggles against the image of pointed ears, tips darkened to a deep sage at his smiles. Oh, gods, he resists against breathy moans and sharp gasps as their bodies move together. He suddenly goes rigid at the sound of his words echoing in side his head…

_It is the only logical choice._

Kirk drops his chin down to his chest, squeezing his eyes tight. One Spock so open, curious, and fascinated by everything around him while the other Spock is closed, reserved, and unfeeling. How could they be the same being? But they are the same being. And he was right. It is the only logical course of action for them to discontinue whatever relationship they had. Spock is the son of the Vulcan ambassador whom is making arrangements for a marriage between the S'chn T'gai and Solen families by the end of the summer. Ultimately, Spock is a Vulcan; even if he is half human…he is still a Vulcan. He has a duty to perform.

 _But he’s also human_.

Kirk sighs and weaves his fingers through his damp hair as he rests his head in his hands. He hasn’t slept in two nights, and he’s exhausted from this war roiling within him. He can’t get Spock out of his head. He can’t forget the way he smiles softly like it’s a secret or the way his dark eyes glitter with excitement at the unknown or the way he tastes like a hot desert after rain. But how could he feel so strongly for someone that could so easily turn away from what they shared?

The wooden boardwalk creaks with approaching footsteps. Kirk doesn’t lift his head, but the light scent of orange blossoms and jasmine gives away the identity of the nearing figure. His muscles melt at the gentle hand on his shoulder blade. He pushes away the fog in his mind and finally raises his face to the woman beside him. Uhura’s hair rests in silky black strands with a few locks sticking out here and there, and a sheer lime green shawl is draped around her shoulders despite the heat. Her features are a little sleepy like she had just woken from a nap. A flare of protectiveness slices through Kirk at the sight.    

“How are you feeling, Nyota?”

Uhura’s answering smile doesn’t quite reach her brown eyes.

“I’ve had better days,” she jokes and leans down on the railing next to him.

“What about you, Jim? Bones tells me that you and Spock haven’t been in the studio to practice for a couple of days.”

“The performance isn’t going to happen, Nyota, not anymore,” Kirk snaps, then immediately regrets it when Uhura raises her eyebrows.

“And why is that?” she asks, seemingly unfazed by his harshness.

Kirk straightens up to lean against the railing on his hands.

“Because we’re too different. How am I supposed to dance with someone that can’t feel anything? That _refuses_ to feel anything? I’d have better luck dancing with a computer…”

“You’re starting to sound like Bones, Jim,” Uhura teases lightheartedly as she turns, resting her back and elbows on the railing. “But even Bones can admit that Spock is a damn good dance partner.”

Kirk shakes his head in frustration.

“I can’t do it, Nyota. I can’t allow myself to feel it,” he states bluntly. “Not if he’s—”

His voice trails off, unable to finish his thought. The water below takes on a darker shade of crimson as the sun begins its decent under the horizon. Kirk watches the waves lap against the boardwalk posts, churning up pink froth with the movement.

“I would have kept the baby, you know,” Uhura breaks their silence gently, staring off at something in front of her. “If I could, I would have.”

Kirks turns to her and smiles softly.

“And you would have made the best mother.”

Uhura turns to him with a bright grin.

“Do you know why I would keep it, Jim?” she asks, her brown eyes glistening. “Because love is a much stronger force than anything in this universe. I was pregnant for only a short time, but I loved my baby with every fiber of my being, with every part of my soul…just as I know you love Spock…just as I know he loves you.”

Kirk looks away, incapable of meeting her gaze.

“Then why is he leaving me?” he murmurs, his voice cracking.

He looks up at her when she clasps her hand over his where it is gripping the railing until his knuckles turn white.

“You need to understand, Jim, that Vulcans spend their entire lives suppressing the emotions we humans take for granted, whether we accept it or not,” she explains softly. “Love, anger, sadness…Vulcans have it all under control, but remember that Spock is half human. He grew up in a place dominated by logic and where the expression of emotion is not only distasteful, but _abhorrent_. Can you imagine what that must have been like?”

Kirk swallows at the lump forming in his throat as he stares down at her hand on his.

“What Spock is doing he must think is…logical, even if it is without consideration for your feelings. That’s how he was raised, but you shouldn’t hold that against him, James Kirk,” Uhura continues, squeezing his hand. “Because I know how much you love him. I have never seen you so happy; you glow with it. And even in the time Spock has been here with us, I’ve seen how much he’s changed. You two are good for each other. It’s so rare to find what you two have in this vast universe…you shouldn’t let it go so easily. Show him what it’s like to think with pure emotion for once.”

The last sliver of sunlight disappears on the horizon, and the first scattering of stars begin to glisten in the night sky in spite of the vibrant radiance of the massive planet looming overhead. Uhura gently takes hold of Kirk’s chin and raises his face to meet her. Her dark eyes shimmer in the soft magenta light.

“Go. Talk to him,” she orders with a small smile.

Kirk smiles back and pulls her into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he says against her hair before planting a kiss on her head.

Uhura giggles and pushes him away.

“Go! Go!” she laughs, but Kirk is already racing down the boardwalk.


	16. Chapter 16

Spock doesn’t understand why he’s here, what keeps drawing him to this place. But here he is, standing alone in a dark studio once again. The irrational thrill shooting through him just moments ago dies as quickly as it manifested. Empty.

His stomach drops at the realization, but truly, what more could he expect? His reasons for breaking off the developing relationship with Kirk are sound. He had a responsibility to his father, his mother, and to Vulcan to effectuate his betrothal to T’Pring. It was his duty as a Vulcan…and yet the thought seems to hollow out the pit of his heart, removing the essence of himself from the man he seemed destined to be. He clenches his jaw, fighting against the lump forming in his throat. He never wanted this.

Jim. Jim is whom he wanted and the life he could have with him. He wanted that warmth in his katra when he looked into his eyes and that fire in his belly when they touched. He wanted to be happy. For the first time in his life he wanted to be happy. And he had it. In his grasp, he had it with Jim…his _t’hy’la_ …but not anymore…not anymore.

If he could just turn back time and erase what he said, take his wonderful, emotional, irrational human in his arms, squeezing him tight, never letting go. His body shudders, burning with the need to feel him again. How he could be so foolish? So blind? How could he turn him away—his _t’hy’la_ … He needs him. With every molecule of his body, every beat of his heart, every crevasse of his mind…he needs Jim Kirk.

Spock sucks in a shaky breath through his parted lips, his vision beginning to blur. He has never felt so lost, so confused, and so broken. _Jim_.

 _Jim_.

“Spock?”

The voice shatters him completely, and he’s not quite sure if it is only in his head, conjured from the sudden release of repressed emotions.

“Spock?” the voice says again.

Spock slowly turns, terrified to think that perhaps he is actually losing his sanity. Kirk stands in the doorway of the studio, unmoving, with the magenta light of Fasmoria spilling in behind him. Spock doesn’t speak, doesn’t dare to breathe. The golden specter just gazes back, his chest moving with nervous breaths.

“Jim?” Spock can barely recognize the cracked voice leaving his throat.

Kirk walks farther into the studio with careful steps, letting the door swish closed behind him.

“I was heading to your quarters, but…something…” the human’s eyebrows stich together. “I felt you here.”

Spock releases the air in his lungs, only to pull in another large swallow. Kirk takes another step closer.

“Spock,” he whispers. “You are right… The only logical choice is end what we have together. As you said, you are a Vulcan bonded to another. It is how it’s always been, even before we…”

Spock watches his throat bob as he swallows and takes a deep breath.

“The most logical thing for me to do, is to turn around and walk right back out that door,” he states forcefully, pointing at the aforementioned door. He then drops his hand to his side, and his shoulders drop, defeated. “But I don’t want to, Spock.”

Spock’s heart quickens in his ribcage, thumping hard into his side.

“I can’t…I can’t because I’m a foolish, irrational, completely illogical human being!” Kirk continues. “We’ve only known each other for a short time, but somehow…somehow we’ve been very close…in a way that’s hard to explain…”

Kirk drops his chin to his chest and takes another deep breath before returning his gaze to him.

“I feel you, Spock,” his voice cracks on his name, his eyes beginning to brim with tears. “In my mind, in my heart…I feel you everywhere, always, like…like you’re a part of me…”

Spock notices the small tremble in his hands.

“I love you, Spock. I love you more than that word could justify,” Kirk whispers, a fresh tear streaking down his face. “And I can’t lose you.”

The lump in Spock’s throat aches unbearably, and his body hums with the need to move, to go to him, to wrap him in his arms—to feel him close.

“Jim…”

Kirk watches him with wide eyes, his hope hanging on every word from his mouth.

“I am a Vulcan, Jim; I have spent my entire life learning and practicing to keep my emotions under control, quiet in the face of logic,” he says, surprised by how well he is able to keep the shaking from his voice. “My ability to do so dictates my path as it has always done. I am what I am.”

Spock senses the sorrow slicing through Kirk at his words. The human casts his eyes down at the floor.

“But being here with you, I feel myself coming apart, experiencing emotions in a way I never have before,” Kirk’s gaze returns to him in an instant. Hope spills into his mind. “Everything that I am, what I have always been…I am changed. And it’s frightening…”

Spock closes the distance between them in long, smooth strides and cups Kirk’s cheek in his palm. Kirk melts into his touch.

“But I'm most afraid of never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you."

Kirk presses his hand to the hand at his face, kissing the palm eagerly. Spock’s entire being seems to sing with joy at the contact, the touch of his _t’hy’la_ once more.

“I don’t want you to be afraid anymore, Spock,” he murmurs.

Spock leans down to press his lips gently to his mouth. It begins hesitantly, a tentative brush of the lips as if they might break under the force of the emotion coursing between them. Kirk then runs the very tip of his tongue along Spock’s bottom lip, asking permission to delve further. And he gives it to him. He opens his mouth slowly, and Kirk dives in, desperate to lick deeper into his wet heat. Arousal blooms in his lower belly, and he welcomes it, unhindered and unashamed.

“I love you, Jim,” he murmurs against his lips, clinging to the body in front of him.

Kirk answers with a soft groan. He clutches at Spock’s arms, bringing him impossibly closer. He is carefully guided backwards, their lips never separating. Spock’s back hits the nearest wall, and Kirk presses him hard against it. He slides a knee between his legs, allowing Spock the opportunity to show him just how much he needs him. His pants are already soaked through, and under other circumstances he would be embarrassed, possibly horrified, but this is Jim—his Jim.

Kirk tangles his fingers in his hair, gripping it tight and pulling him closer. A litany of little gasps and whimpers spill from his mouth, and the other man chases them down with his tongue. Spock loses himself in the taste of him, surprisingly delicate and sweet, just as he remembers. Kirk runs his hands hungrily over his body like a blind man, and he reacquaints himself with the human in turn. Desire drips like molten magma from his mind, searing everything in its path down to his lower belly. He thrusts against Kirk’s insistent thigh and whines at the spark igniting his trapped, straining groin.

“I love you,” Kirk breathes into his ear, pressing his own arousal into him. “I love you…I love you…”

He seals each vow with a deep kiss, then trailing his lips down to the column of his throat. The human sets to work on the vulnerable skin above his carotid artery, and he can feel his own blood pumping furiously under the pressure. Spock moans openly when teeth nip at the junction of his neck and shoulder. His mind swirls with the sensations, with the intensity of the pleasure his beautiful, illogical human gives to him so freely. But it isn’t enough. In the pit of his stomach he senses something is missing, and through the haze in his brain, he calls for more. He needs to be closer.

“Jim,” his voice is like gravel in his throat.

Kirk releases his neck from his sinful mouth only to lick his way up until the tip of his tongue grazes the shell of his ear, making him shudder.

“Yes, my love?” he murmurs like warm honey.

“I—I…” Spock whimpers as Kirk takes the tip of his ear gently between his teeth, but he manages to collect himself enough to finish his request. “I wish to meld with you.”

Kirk pauses in his work, and Spock’s entire being mourns the loss as he brings his head back to look at him.

“Meld?” he repeats, feeling the oddity of the word in this context.

Finally able to form a true coherent thought without the distraction of the emotions flooding into him through the contact with his human, he steals a quick breath before answering.

“A mind meld—with a touch, our minds will fuse together, become one…” he explains as steadily as he is capable. “My thoughts will become your thoughts, and yours will become mine.”

Kirk stares down at him, his face shockingly neutral, and a sliver of fear slices through Spock. Perhaps he pushed too hard too soon. In addition, he shouldn’t have the audacity to ask such a thing of a non-Vulcan when he has never attempted it himself.

“This is not the place; let’s go to my quarters,” Kirk says, removing his body from Spock, making him wince at the release of pressure on his still throbbing cock.

They quickly slip through the night along the boardwalk by the soft glow of its lights, Spock’s hand in Kirk’s the whole way. He’s slightly reassured by the excitement flowing into him, as well as the intense love and curiosity. When they reach Kirk’s quarters, the man pulls him inside, bracing him against the door the moment it closes behind them and steals his breath with a deep kiss.

He then turns, shucking off his boots, his pants and his shirt until he’s left in nothing but his boxer briefs. His persistent erection protrudes under the thin fabric and the elimination of constricting clothes is no doubt considerably more comfortable. A pleasant twinge in his ass has Spock blushing furiously at the memory of having that incredible organ inside him. Spock watches him crawl onto the bed, and sit cross-legged on his blanket.

“Come, tell me about this mind meld,” he beckons gently.

Spock complies without hesitation, removing his own clothing until he mirrors the state of undress. He ignores the fluid drenching his undergarments and the small droplets dripping down his thighs, but he catches Kirk stealing a quick glimpse down and his eyes darkening at the sight. Spock sits across Kirk on the bed in the same manner.

“A mind meld is an ancient telepathic technique passed down through the generations of my people. Fingers align with the _qui'lari_ , which are the bioelectrical focal points on the face that allow the neural connection between the two participants. In human culture they are known as chakras,” he explains objectively as if he isn’t nearly naked and leaking across from a man in a similar state of disorder. “When that happens, energies are passed through the connection, and the minds essentially become one.”

Kirk nods thoughtfully, his mouth pressed into a hard line as he processes the information.

“We will then be closer than we have ever been, more so than we ever physically could be?” he inquires studiously.

“Precisely.”

Kirk nods again, but then suddenly glances up.

“But you’re afraid—why?”

Spock sighs, disappointed that he was unsuccessful in hiding that traitorous feeling.

“Melds can be particularly dangerous when initiated with a non-psi being. It disrupts and slightly alters the synapse and neural pathways of the brain, leaving a permanent trace of the minds within each other. This can be more pronounced in non-psi entities,” he then confesses, “And I have never before attempted a mind meld with any being.”

Kirk reaches forward, caressing Spock’s bare ankle with gentle fingers. Reassurance seeps into him at the contact.

“You wish to meld with me, Spock?” he asks, and then continues without giving him a chance to object. “I wish to meld with you as well.”

Spock lays his hand over the other man’s.

“Your mind will be completely open to me, Jim. I will feel what you feel, know what you know.”

Kirk gives him a soft smile and squeezes his ankle.

“I understand,” he replies quietly. “I trust you, Spock.”

Spock’s chest swells with that now familiar feeling he has finally given a name—love—undeniable, inescapable, overwhelming love. He returns the small smile.

Kirk withdraws his hand, his face a picture of feigned seriousness.

“Alright, Mr. Spock, what do I do?”

Spock shakes his head slightly, his lips pulling into a wider smile before the gravity of the situation begins pressing down upon him. The playfulness drains from Kirk’s face as the air in the room charges with anticipation. Spock inhales deeply, and releases it slowly. He repeats the action a couple more times before setting his jaw, reinforcing his resolve.

“Ready?” he asks quietly.

“Ready.”

Spock lifts his hand to Kirk’s face, placing his thumb to the corner of his mouth, his forefinger next to his nose, and his remaining fingers to the area above his temporal bone. Kirk’s eyes are glued to him the entire time.

“My mind to your mind... my thoughts to your thoughts...”

Darkness…warm and familiar…darkness is what he sees first…then vibrant flashes of color swirl around him in a neon mist with the vague essence of his memories. He’s been here many times before during his meditations and moments of contemplation. His mind hums around him with a lifetime of thoughts, knowledge…feelings, and there is something with him now—something outside of himself. It flickers at him from a corner of his mind, a soft golden light. It calls to him, drawing him nearer. Spock goes to it without resistance, already feeling the warm glow waiting for him. Like walking through a curtain, he emerges into a blinding white light, an assault on his senses like he’s never experienced before. He’s thrown into a chaotic swirl of memory and emotion. Bright explosions of color flash around him. He struggles against it, the rumble of noise splitting in his ears. He reaches out in his desperation for relief. The roar ceases instantly, replaced by a low, calm hum.

_It is I, Jim; I am here. Please do not be afraid._

Kirk’s presence envelopes him, soaking into his own until they mix into a kaleidoscope of sound and color. Spock focuses his energies on the flashes of memories before him. He catches one in his concentration, and it becomes clearer.

_A young boy, no more than ten Earth years darts down a dirt path on a rather primitive looking bicycle—the contraption still had a metal chain turning its gears. The dirt spits up from his tires, propelling him forward into the cool evening air. Corn fields blur passed him on either side. His lungs are pumping and his legs burn with the effort exerted on the pedals. He sees his destination up ahead, and his heart flutters with excitement. A tall, protruding hillside swells over the fields of corn. The young boy grinds his bicycle to a halt and hops off, running as fast as his legs will carry him up the hill, a pack over his shoulder. He rips it open as he reaches the top and removes the pieces of a long reflecting telescope. He snaps them together quickly, nearly dropping one part in his haste. He then extends the legs of the tripod as the last bit of sunlight disappears over the horizon. He points the primary mirror up to the sky. His heart pounds in his chest and the sweat cools on his skin. Then he spots it, a soft red flicker in the darkening sky—a sight only experienced on a night like tonight he discovered three months ago. It winks happily at him, and his mouth stretches into a wide grin._

_“I’ll see you soon,” he whispers, looking through the eyepiece. “Whoever you are…”_

The image begins to blur and the boy, along with his telescope and the stars are swept away in the current of Kirk’s memories. Spock then feels a soft pull in his mind. Kirk must be doing the same. He searches for him, following the trace of his presence until he is swallowed up into another scene. He startles.

_He, as a young Vulcan child, looks up at a severe female Vulcan towering over him. The dim glow of the lights in the darkened room cast shadows across her face, causing the deep crevasses in her aged skin to be more pronounced. His father stands next to him on one side, his mother on the other._

_“I don’t want to, father,” his small voice squeaks from his throat._

_His father glances down at him, his mouth pressed into a firm line._

_“It is futile to argue, Spock; do not be difficult,” he admonishes. “You must. It is the way of our people and the fulfillment of your prophecy.”_

_The child turns to his mother, pleading silently for deliverance. Her blue eyes shimmer with barely contained moisture, but she does not say a word._

_“It is said thy Vulcan blood is thin. Are thee Vulcan or are thee human?” the Vulcan woman interjects harshly, her dark eyes glowering down at him._

_“T’Pau, we beg forgiveness; his Vulcan blood runs strong,” his father implores. “You have the power, T’Pau.”_

_“Then the child called Spock will be bonded to the child called T’Pring in the ways of our ancestors, as it was in the beginning.”_

_The child is about to protest, but his mother scoops him up quickly, pressing his mouth to her shoulder as she rushes to the door. Her tears are wet against his cheek._

_Sometime later, he sits alone in his quarters, curled into a ball on his bed. His sehlat, I-Chaya, lays on the floor next to him. Tears stream down his face. He can feel her there now, faint but completely foreign. He pushes at the stinging in his head, driving it down away from his conscious. Another sensation tingles in his mind, and he hurries to it, delving into it with his whole being. It cradles him with tenderness, calming his sorrows and quieting his turmoil. He does not remember when he first noticed this strange presence, but he found it to be a great comfort to have it there, always with him. Sometimes if he endeavors hard enough, he can see the hazy impression of eyes—bright, golden eyes. The child clings to the image, his tears drying, and lets it hold him into sleep._

Spock turns away from the memory, resisting against the familiar sorrow and loneliness it evokes. Kirk’s presence shrouds him, soothing his suffering like ice on a burn. He welcomes him. He merges with him until they are one, swirling in the essence of one another.

 _T’hy’la_.

The word blooms into consciousness and caresses his mind. Kirk’s presence grows more intense, squeezing tight to the thought echoing in his head.

 _T’hy’la_ … _T’hy’la_ … _T’hy’la_ …

Spock is suddenly sucked back in a blur of color and sound into his own body, the connection broken. He opens his eyes. The magenta glow of Fasmoria seeps into the dark room in a bright waterfall, spilling over the bed—spilling over Kirk’s face.

The man’s mouth hangs open slightly, his cheeks glittering with moisture. When he finally opens his eyes, thin golden irises wrap around blown pupils. He stares at Spock as if seeing him for the first time. Spock watches him carefully, unsure of the effects of the meld.

“ _T’hy’la_ ,” Kirk’s voice is barely a whisper.

Spock’s eyes widen in surprise, not just from the perfect pronunciation of the word, but from the fact that he knew the it at all. Kirk reaches out a hand, cupping his cheek in his cool palm.

“My _t’hy’la_ ,” the emotion behind the word flows into him with every syllable, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Yes,” Spock manages quietly.

Kirk smiles at him, fresh tears spilling from his cheeks. He leans forward, shifting his legs to bring his lips to his. He parts his mouth, allowing him to delve inside. Salt stings at his tongue from the human’s tears as he surges up into the kiss, hungry for more contact, to be close once more. Kirk gently lowers him to the plush blanket and slips between his legs. Spock moans into his mouth as his hard cock rubs against his own through sodden fabric. Kirk brings his lips to his neck, sucking gently.

“ _T’hy’la_ ,” he murmurs against his skin.

Spock arches his back off the bed when his tongue finds the tip of his ear.

“My _t’hy’la_ ,” Kirk breathes into his ear before nipping at the lobe.

Something dark and primal blossoms in Spock’s lower belly, and he shudders at the possession thick in his voice. Fluid seeps from his cock anew and spreads over his abdomen where it’s trapped between them. Kirk thrusts his hips forward, grinding his own erection against him. Spock groans loudly, grasping wildly at the human’s back, his hands sliding down to the round globes of his ass. He kneads the firm flesh in his hands, extracting a low growl from the man above him.

Kirk pushes back onto his knees to remove his boxer briefs as gracefully as he can on the bed. He glances down at the saturated cloth doing very little to cover Spock’s straining cock. He pulls it down his thighs, and Spock sighs at the fluid smearing over his overheated skin. The human gazes down at him, following every curve of his body. Spock’s body flares at the attention, making him squirm desperately. He imagines Kirk’s lips wrapped around his cock, licking each ridge with as much care and enthusiasm as the last. He can almost feel his mouth at his hole, spearing him open with his tongue. But he can’t wait, not now; he’s too far gone. He needs him inside; he needs to be one with him again.

“Jim,” he rasps, his voice dragging along his throat. “Please.”

Kirk brings his eyes up to his face and gives him a soft smile. He leans forward, draping his body over him, and Spock immediately wraps himself around him.

“I’m here, my _t’hy’la_ ,” he whispers as the head of his cock presses against his entrance. “My _t’hy’la_.”

Spock whimpers as he breaches the first ring of muscle, followed by the second as more fluid gushes forth, spilling from his stretching hole. Kirk slides in slowly, allowing him the chance to adjust around his sizable girth despite the plentiful lubrication. Desire sears through him like a wildfire. Kirk seals his mouth with a kiss as he reaches the hilt, his cock fully seated inside. Spock moans, relishing the solid pulse of the human’s heartbeat deep inside him. He feels so full; he might split with the slightest move.

As if sensing his thoughts, Kirk gently pulls his hips back. Spock moans again as his ass clenches around him to keep him inside. The human then pushes his hips forward, clutching at the blankets in tight fists as he groans low in his throat. He repeats the motion until he’s pumping steadily into Spock’s pliant, slick hole.   

“Yes, Jim, hhmn, yes,” Spock mumbles. “My _t’hy’la_ …”

The word causes a brief stutter in Kirk’s hips before he increases his pace, causing Spock to cry out with the intensity of the sensation.

“My _t’hy’la_ ,” he whines, his breaths forced out of him with each thrust. “ _Taluhk nash-veh k'dular, ashayam_ … _k'diwa_ …”

Kirk drives into him desperately. The desire pooling in his belly begins to boil hot. He’s close, so close, and he can sense Kirk is as well. He reaches up a hand, carefully placing his fingers over the _qui'lari_ of Kirk’s face above him. Before he even has a chance to utter the words, he’s inside, sinking deep into the wild swirling colors of the human’s mind. He dives into it, dancing and swimming in the flood of memories and emotion. Kirk wraps around him, blending together until they are one once again. Somewhere deep within himself, his _katra_ sings, outpouring love to Kirk through their connection.

Through the spectacle of colors and sound, white-hot electricity suddenly surges through his body, swallowing him in a blinding light. Very slowly, the white light dims, then dissipates, leaving the colors to weave languidly around him like an eddying stream. He floats back to his own body and drops his hand from Kirk’s face. Their chests heave together, pulling in as much air as they can. Spock’s cheeks flush hot once he notices the splashes of deep blue on Kirk’s chest with a few stray droplets painting his face.

Kirk glances down, then up again with a smirk. Spock wipes away a blue streak with his fingers, and the human catches his wrist. He sucks the fingers into his mouth, laving them with his tongue. Spock groans at the broad swipes against the sensitive pads of his fingers, sending an interested twitch to his spent cock. Kirk then leans forward, bringing his lips to his in a tender kiss.

“ _t'nash-veh yel, t'nash-veh aikum, heh ek' t'nash-veh khio'ri_ …” the human murmurs into his mouth.

“Fascinating.”


	17. Chapter 17

Kirk smiles down at Spock from where his head his propped up on his elbow. Bright sunshine breaks over the horizon and bathes the room in gold. The bed is pleasantly warm beneath the blanket wrapped mostly around the Vulcan. His silky black hair lies in disarray around his head buried in the pillow. He soaks in the sight of him, his face peaceful. He seems so much younger when he’s asleep, completely relaxed, without his features set in their constant mask of austerity. To say he is beautiful like this is an absolute understatement, like saying the universe is big or the sun is yellow. No, he is beautiful in the way that the ancient Homer would write about or Seska would paint or Michelangelo would carve into marble. He is beautiful in a way that could never be portrayed in a word, but only in the warm feeling when gazing upon him.

Kirk brushes a few stray locks from his forehead and curls his fingers gently around the shell of his ear. Spock grumbles and nuzzles deeper into his pillow. Kirk leans forward and plants a kiss on his bare shoulder blade.

“Good morning,” he coos. “The sun has already awakened, Spock.”

Spock opens one sleepy eye as if to affirm his statement.

“It is only barely morning, _ashayam_ ,” he mutters.

Kirk chuckles, kissing his shoulder while caressing his hand up his back.

“I thought Vulcans didn’t need much sleep.”

Spock finally rolls over in the bed, stretching his long, lithe limbs to wring the sleep from his muscles. A sage green mark rests at the junction of his neck and shoulder, making Kirk blush slightly.

“Most Vulcans don’t have an insatiable human lover,” he argues with a soft smile.

Kirk bites his lower lip and glances away in a feigned display of consideration.

“Touché,” he relents and then proceeds to bury his face into Spock’s neck, sucking and licking at the mark.

Spock growls low in his throat, making it vibrate against his lips, and tangles his fingers in his disheveled hair. The Vulcan grips it gently, pulling his head back to press his mouth to his. His tongue slips between his lips, and he opens them happily, meeting it with his own. They lose themselves in the kiss, moving together and tasting until Kirk pulls himself away to catch his breath.

“ _I ashaya du_ ,” Spock whispers, his dark eyes glimmering.

Kirk’s brows scrunch together.

“What does that mean?” he asks softly.

Spock arches an eyebrow.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs. “After our meld last night, you gained the ability to speak Vulcan—temporarily it seems.”

Kirk pauses, thinking back to the night before, after their minds had detangled from each other. He recalls saying some things to him, the foreign words feeling odd in his untrained mouth. There’s one word in particular that comes forth, one he remembers as clear as the waters of Muria. One he had never heard in his life before the moment it echoed in his head from their meld. One without the need of explanation—he could feel it in his soul.

“ _T’hy’la_ ,” he speaks, following it with a rather chaste kiss to Spock’s lips.

Spock gives him a warm smile.

“I am pleased you remember that one, _ashayam_.”

Spock lifts up from his pillow for another kiss, delving in deep with his scorching mouth. He gently guides Kirk onto his back, pressing him into the mattress with his body, carding his fingers through his hair.

“I love you,” the Vulcan says, his breath brushing hot against his cheeks.

“And I love you,” Kirk answers softly beneath him.

He gazes up at Spock, his features still soft from sleep, and that familiar swell aches in his chest. So strong and overwhelming, he feels he may burst. The Vulcan ducks in to steal one last kiss before hopping up and throwing his long legs over the side of the bed.

“Somewhere to be?” Kirk asks, propping himself up on his elbows.

Spock slips on his pants followed by his shirt.

“Yes, my love,” he says, and then turns, a wide smile stretched across his face. The Vulcan hops onto the bed to tackle Kirk in his arms, making him giggle as he attacks him with kisses.

“Approximately at this time my parents enjoy a stroll through the gardens; this morning, I will be there to join them,” Spock tells him, brushing his hair back from his face. “I wish to tell them everything. I’m not sure how, but I must.”

He then jumps up again, lunging onto the floor. Kirk chuckles at his sudden burst of energy.

“I will return, _ashayam_ ,” Spock declares, running a hand over his hair to smooth it.

He then rushes to the door, and it slides open. He bounds out into the cool morning air. Kirk spots something on the floor.

“Spock!” he calls after him, laughing. “Spock! Your boots!”

He topples out of bed to quickly pull on his boxer briefs before collecting the boots from their place on the floor. The door slides open again, and he meets a beaming Vulcan in the doorway.

“Thank you,” he breathes and embraces him in his strong arms, sealing his mouth in a deep kiss.

Dizzy and deliriously happy, Kirk grabs at the doorway to steady himself as he watches the Vulcan swallow up the boardwalk in long strides, his boots still in hand. He grins and shakes his head slightly before returning to his quarters, the door sliding closed behind him.

Unknown to him, dark eyes soaking in every minute of the scene glitter excitedly from the stone walkway near the guest quarters, and a pair of glossed lips pull into a small smile.

“ _Marom_.”

 

Spock bounds up the stone steps, two at a time, toward the gardens. The early morning sunshine filters through the broad green leaves of the trees, and the delicate scent of flowers wafts in the breeze. The cool air nips at his cheeks as he runs. He’s managed to slip on his boots, bouncing along in order to stay moving forward, before he spots the sheer blue shawl his mother favored. It is the only piece of clothing his father ever commented on, confessing to her that the color “brings out the light in your eyes.”

“Mother!” he shouts, scaring away a few wandering birds. “Father!”

They both turn in sync, wondering whom on the planet could be making such a commotion this early in the day.

“Spock?” his mother says, confused.

Spock grinds to a halt before them, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths despite the oxygen-rich air. He dips his head in a bow to greet them.

“Spock! Why are you acting in such a manner?” his father hisses quietly. “You must leave immediately.”

Spock ignores him and gives his mother a small smile. Her blue eyes glitter in wonder at the expression.

“I apologize for my interruption,” he says to her, then turns to his father. “I have much to tell you.”

“Ambassador! Amanda! There you are!” a gruff voice booms behind him.

Director Solen strides up to them, accompanied by Stonn, along the cobblestone path weaving its way around bushes and flowerbeds. He looks Spock up and down when he reaches them, arching an eyebrow.

“I was not aware your son would be joining us this morning.”

“He will not; his presence is only temporary,” Sarek replies, giving Spock a pointed look.

Spock turns to the director, willing his heart to slow back to its steady beat.

“Director, I am pleased to see you again,” he says politely. “I assume the discussions are ongoing?”

Solen nods once in answer.

“Yes, your father is quite the negotiator; his experience as ambassador serves him well,” he states, glancing at Serek to the side. “I believe the negations will provide a beneficial outcome for both families.”

Spock feels his stomach wretch at the thought, but he stuffs it down.

“My gods, what has happened to your eye, Stonn?” his mother exclaims after noticing the dark contusion coloring the hollow of his eye.

Stonn shifts his feet nervously, glancing at up at Spock. The look holds no malice or resentment, only…contriteness.

“A result of my own unfortunate clumsiness, madam,” he replies cordially.

“Ah, yes, perhaps if you behaved more like Spock here, _you_ would be my apprentice, you childish boy,” Solen admonishes him.

Spock and Stonn shoot each other a quick glance, and Spock conveys his apologies through his eyes.

“Father! Father!” comes a sharp shout from the guest quarters.

A young female Vulcan storms up the pathway, trailed by Mudd and two of his security officers. The silver eye shadow dusting her eyelids accentuate the fury burning in her dark eyes.

“T’Pring! You should not be here!” Solen chastises the young woman as she approaches, Mudd huffing behind her.

Spock startles, staring at her. It has been many years since the last time he laid eyes on T’Pring—not since their bonding when they were children. The sweetness of her features as a girl has blossomed into loveliness with soft, dark eyes, elegantly cut cheekbones, and a shapely mouth. She is certainly a beauty to behold, but after years bonded to her without regard to his true desires, Spock feels the acrimony bubbling in his throat.

“I apologize, father; I would not have intruded if it were not of importance,” she says quickly. “The _Kol-Ut-Shan_ has been taken in the night from the high priestess’ quarters.”

Solen’s eyes widen.

“What?” he blurts out in surprise. “Who would do such a thing?”

Unseen by the casual observer, T’Pring glares at Spock before answering her father.

“It was the captain, father, James Kirk,” she accuses harshly. “I saw him in the vicinity late in the night when I was awakened by a noise.”

Mudd then steps forth, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I assure you, your Excellency, the matter will be dealt with swiftly,” he vows with an overly sweet smile before nodding to his security officers. “Arrest the captain and bring him to me.”

“No! Stop!” Spock yells before he can stop himself. “It was not the captain.”

All eyes are on him, staring in confusion at the sudden outburst. Spock looks at T’Pring, whose glossed lips pull minutely into a satisfied smile. His eyes travel to the director, to his father, and finally to his mother. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm the tremble in his hands.

“I know because…because he was in his room all night…” he states firmly, struggling to keep the shaking from his voice. “…and I was with him.”

He winces at the small gasp from his mother behind him. He turns to her, casting his eyes to the ground.

“I did not intend for you to find out this way,” he says quietly.

He glances up at his father, whose dark eyes are wide in disbelief.

“Sarek!” Solen barks. “What is the meaning of this?”

Broken form his trance, Sarek turns to the director.

“I’m sure there has been a misunderstanding, Solen, please allow us a moment,” he says calmly before taking Spock roughly by the elbow.

His father drags him into the empty greenhouse, leaving the others behind in a buzz of confused and enraged murmurs. Sarek twirls him around, his groomed eyebrows slanted downward in anger.

 “You have been with the captain in spite of my orders?” he growls. “You deliberately disobeyed me!”

“Yes! I disobeyed you! I lied to you,” Spock spits back before feeling the anger drain from his body. “You lied to me as well.”

Sarek stitches his eyebrows together. Spock takes a step forward.

“You once told me that all life is precious—that all life is worthy of consideration and understanding without prejudice,” he starts. “But you really meant only the creatures who are like you…like Vulcans…”

A lump begins to grow in Spock’s throat. He swallows at it, maintaining his gaze with his father.

“Humans are nothing like Vulcans, father; you know that. You’ve been mated to my mother for years…” he murmurs, taking another step closer. Sarek watches him intently. “If you truly care for me…no…if you truly _love_ me, father, you must love all the things about me…that includes my human half.”

Sarek doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word. He just stares, his dark eyes betraying nothing. Mudd bursts into the greenhouse.

“Ambassador, sir, I thought you would be pleased to know that the…um…the uh, missing necklace was recovered. It seems it was taken by one of our guests, a Ferengi. I am truly sorry for the ordeal, sir.”

Sarek glances briefly back at Spock before pushing past Mudd in the doorway. He watches his father leave, and in his ribcage, his heart breaks.


	18. Chapter 18

Spock slowly makes his way along the boardwalk. The sun sits high in the sky without a cloud in sight. It’s a beautiful day. It started out a beautiful day at least. He sighs. How had things gone so horribly wrong? When he awoke only a few hours ago with Kirk at his side, he was in paradise. Even when he found his parents, prepared to tell them everything, his blood pumped hot in his veins, excitement bursting in his chest. But he hadn’t meant to tell them the way he did. It made what he and Kirk shared seem like a fling, a casual affair before his marriage bond is finalized. Kirk is his _t’hy’la_ , his _k'diwa_. His father has ceased speaking to him, and it has become useless to produce an explanation. Even now his father is attempting to maintain the progress he’s made in the negotiations, believing his son would still marry T’Pring.

He reaches Kirk’s quarters and pauses at the door. The man was so happy when he’d left that morning…and now…he had this news to report in return. He enters the code into the door. A red light flashes and makes a startling beeping noise. _Incorrect code_. Spock’s eyebrows scrunch together as he reenters the code, paying close attention to the symbols he touches and their order. _Incorrect code_. He presses the button to request an audio communication.

“Jim?” he says into the intercom.

Silence.

Spock walks around to the side where the windows face out toward the lake. He lifts himself just enough on the ledge to peer inside.

Empty.

No clothes strewn about, no books, no chess set. The bed is even clean and tucked neatly. Spock’s heart quickens its pace in his ribcage. He drops down from the ledge and makes his way with wide strides to the medical center. If Kirk had actually left, he would’ve at least taken the chance to say goodbye to Uhura…right? Clinging to that feeble sliver of resolve, he enters the center.

McCoy sits at his desk, scribbling away at his PADD. He glances up when the door opens with a soft whoosh.

“Spock?” he greets him.

Spock makes a straight line to the examination room. Uhura lays relaxed on the biobed with Nurse Chapel reading quietly at her side.

“Hi, Spock,” Uhura says with a bright smile. “What brings y—”

“Jim,” Spock interrupts, unable to keep the growing distress from his voice. “Do you know where he is?”

Uhura props herself on her elbows, slightly alarmed by his tone.

“No, I don’t; I actually assumed he was with you,” she answers. “Spock, what’s going on?”

Spock’s shoulders drop in disappointment.

“His quarters are empty, Nyota.”

“Empty?”

“Yes.”

She glances away as if trying to remember something.

“Mudd was in here a little while ago,” she tells him. “He was looking for Jim, too.”

Spock spins around suddenly, pausing only enough to let the door swish open.

“Spock?” Uhura calls after him, but he’s already exiting the medical center.

His heart is racing now, his breaths coming quick. _Where is Jim?_ The thought echoes in his head like a distress signal. Kirk is missing just after the catastrophe this morning? It could not be a coincidence. The universe is rarely so lazy.

Spock climbs the steps leading to Mudd’s office in large leaps and bursts through the door without an announcement. His secretary hops up from her desk, startled by his noisy entry. He pushes passed her in spite of her protests to the next door. Mudd sits at his own desk with his feet up, looking quite smug. He smiles at Spock when he enters.

“Mr. Spock, what a pleasant surprise!” he exclaims, not bothering to remove his feet from his desk. “I expected to see you soon.”

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

“Jim. Where is Jim?”

Mudd laces his fingers together before resting his hands on the large swell of his stomach.

“Gone. I fired him. He should have known better than to get…involved with a guest. It’s quite damaging to the reputation of this fine establishment,” he replies nonchalantly.

Rage boils in Spock’s stomach.

“The only thing damaging the image of this place is you,” he retorts hotly. “Where did he go after you fired him?”

Mudd shrugs with a smirk. He is clearly enjoying this game.

“I gave him twenty minutes to pack, which is quite generous for a man who lives out of a suitcase, even in his state of…undress,” the man arches an eyebrow at Spock, making his stomach roil unpleasantly. “My security officers escorted him to the launch site with the authorization to travel anywhere within the Beta Encore System. From there, he’s on his own. He went rather quietly.”

Spock clenches his teeth, and then takes a deep calming breath to rid himself of the urge to wipe that smug look off the man’s face.

“Did he say where he was going?” he asks steadily.

Mudd shakes his head.

“Nope,” he answers, and then smirks again. “Seems odd for a man not to leave any message whatsoever for the one he supposedly cares about before flying off into the galaxy, don’t you think?”

Spock glowers darkly at him.

“With you as the custodian, I don’t think so,” he growls.

Mudd sighs and finally swings his feet down to the floor.

“Regardless, the man is gone, and he is prohibited from returning,” he tells him. “Maybe you should be getting back to the guest quarters. It seems you’ve caused enough trouble as it is already.”

Spock clenches his fist against the impulse to strike the man. But he is right. Kirk is gone, traveling anywhere within the galaxy without a clue to his whereabouts. His shoulders drop, his body suddenly exhausted. Kirk is gone, and it is near impossible for him to return. Spock turns to the door behind him and walks out, wondering if he’ll ever see his _t’hy’la_ again.


	19. Chapter 19

The soft clatter of silverware against porcelain fills the large ballroom as background to the band playing on the black lacquer stage. The music spewing from their instruments scrapes like rough stones against Spock’s ears. With Belaar’s star dancer fired and Uhura still on medical leave, they must have been the only entertainment available to fill in for the end-of-season performance at such short notice.

Spock pushes a limp green leaf around his plate while his father consumes his tensely at his side. He ignores his mother’s concerned looks as she takes another bite of her meal. His stomach does not hunger, nor does his mind desire to think. His father managed to repair the damage caused by his revelation three days ago. As expected, the negotiations with Director Solen proved to be successful and would be finalized once they return to Vulcan. He will marry T’Pring by summer’s end.

His seat wedged into the crevasse of a wide pillar, his bride-to-be sits next to her father across the dining table from him. She sits back in her chair, staring blankly at the water sparkling in her glass. Spock sets his fork down on the table and leans back. With every passing minute his heart sinks lower and lower into the empty pit opening up inside of him.

_Jim._

Moisture wells up in his eyes. He closes them to hide it. Deep in his mind he still feels the soft tingle of his presence, his human soul calling out to him to no avail.

“Spock, darling, are you feeling alright?” his mother asks quietly, tilting her head slightly.

_No._

“My wife, please, do not fret so over our son,” Sarek scolds her under the screeching music from the stage. “He is a grown Vulcan and future director of the Vulcan Science Academy.”

_No._

Over the music and the clang of dishes there is shouting from the hallway. It starts quietly at first, but increases considerably in volume as it approaches the ballroom.

“You stop right there, sir, or I will have you arrested! This is trespassing!”

Even in its high-pitched tone, Mudd’s voice turns his stomach.

“Take another step, and I’ll give you a free trip down to the good doctor, you rat!”

Uhura?

The doors to the ballroom burst open, startling those sitting closest to the entrance. The band onstage comes to an abrupt halt, the room drowned in sudden silence. Spock’s heart leaps into his throat, and the entire universe seems to stop.

A pair of golden eyes scans the murmuring crowd until they find him.

Jim.

Kirk advances towards him with an expression daring anyone to stand in his way. Spock releases the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in a soft exhale as the man reaches their table. Kirk gazes down at him, his eyes on fire.

“Nobody puts _t’hy’la_ in a corner.”

He extends his hand like he had on that first night they danced together, daring him to take it. And he does. His mother gasps next to him, and his father jumps up from his seat, making the silverware on the table clank loudly as he makes his way around the table, hand resting in Kirk’s palm.

“Spock!” Sarek hisses, preparing to intercept their path towards the front of the room.

Amanda grasps his arm, halting his movements. He turns to her, shock clear on his face, but he returns to his seat. All eyes in the room follow them as Kirk leads Spock through the maze of tables and servers. They climb the short few steps to the stage, and Kirk goes to the solitary microphone resting on its stand. Squeezing Spock’s hand, he takes a deep breath.

“I am Captain James Tiberius Kirk, son of George Samuel and Winona Kirk,” his voice booms firmly. “And here beside me is S'chn T'gai Spock, son of Ambassador Sarek and Amanda Grayson…”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Spock’s lips. Even if Kirk’s ability to speak fluent Vulcan has disappeared, his talent for pronouncing certain words correctly remains.

“Anyone who falls in love with him is likely to be _absolutely_ insane…” Spock straightens his shoulders and arches an eyebrow, caught off-guard by the remark. Kirk grins and glances at him, seeming to sense his displeased reaction. “Which proves that _I_ must be insane…but don’t hold that against me…I am only human.”

The birds chirping happily outside can be heard through the walls over the deafening silence. No one moves; no one dares make a sound. All eyes are on them, completely and intensely enraptured. Kirk turns to Spock fully, taking both hands in his. A low murmur begins to hum around the room.

“You are the most incredible Vulcan I have ever had the honor to know,” the moisture building in the man’s eyes glitters in the sunshine spilling through the tall, arched windows. “And you are the epitome of everything I have ever looked for in another human being."

The man kisses the knuckles on each of his hands, the emotion flowing strong through their point of contact.

“I have traveled around the universe almost all of my life, and I have never met someone as… _perfect_ …as you are…I love you, Spock,” Kirk whispers, his golden eyes shimmering. “I love you from your exceptionally logical Vulcan mind to your unbelievably human soul…”

Spock tries to suppress the quiver of his bottom lip as he gazes at him, his vision beginning to blur.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to keep you with me always,” Kirk continues softly. “But Vulcan is your home; it is as much a part of you as your human half. I could never ask you to leave that all behind.”

A tear finally spills over, leaving a glittering trail down his cheek.

“So I've come here with no expectations, only to say that—” his voice cracks, but he quickly recovers. “To say that…I have been…and always shall be…yours.”

Spock stares at him, unsure what to say. A multitude of emotions churn in his mind, blending with his blood and pumping in his heart. Finally, he says the only thing he can.

“ _I ashaya du heh dungi ashaya du kwon-sum_ … _t'nash-veh t’hy’la_.”

Kirk grins wider, another tear streaking down his cheek. Spock is beginning to wonder if he ever did lose his ability to understand Vulcan. Music suddenly floats into the room through the unseen speakers. Kirk turns to glance over his shoulder, and Spock follows his line of sight to Uhura and Janice standing defensively in front Mudd near the wall. Uhura gives them a wink. Chuckling, Kirk turns back to Spock.

“Dance with me?”

Spock smiles wide until the stretch aches in his cheeks.

“Of course.”

Kirk releases his hands long enough to remove his uniform jacket and toss it to Janice, leaving him in his black undershirt. He gathers Spock into his arms once more, the fingers of the human’s left hand entwining with those of his right. More whispers and murmurs erupt from the crowd before them, but Spock ignores them. Nothing in this universe could ever take him away from this moment, from those golden eyes he’s seen in his dreams since he was a child…from his Jim Kirk.

Kirk presses his other hand against his lower back, the only warning he gives before swinging him down low and up again. Spock flicks his mussed hair with a broad grin, and he moves into the first position. He looks over his shoulder at the man behind him, readying himself for their performance. To his surprise, Kirk leans in to brush his lips gently against his before twirling him around. And it begins.

As if falling into a trance governed only by emotion and movement, Spock’s body sways and his feet move to the beat of the music. His eyes remain locked on the man before him, and everything else begins to fall away. In this world, there is only he and Kirk. Love floods into him where their chests press together, bringing a flush to his cheeks. An overwhelming happiness drenches his mind as they glide like clouds across the stage. He has only ever read of _Sha-Ka-Ree_ in his studies as a young child on Vulcan, but now…he knows. If there ever were such a place, this is it—here with his _t’hy’la_ —dancing, feeling, and loving.

Kirk spins him out and back into his arms, playfully burying his nose into his neck, causing a sweet laugh to escape his throat. The human releases him, and Spock cries out in shock in chorus with the crowd down below, as he dives off the stage. He lands with a soft thud and gives an elegant twirl. Uhura and Janice cheer loudly as they weave through the tables towards him. The servers peppered throughout the room have disposed of their serving trays and fill in behind him. Hips roll in a sea of movement to the music. Spock’s jaw drops as some of the younger Vulcans in the crowd hop up from their seats, enthusiastically blending in to dance with the others.

In the controlled chaos, Kirk emerges with a glowing flush to his cheeks. His eyes shine like the sun. He pauses for a moment, asking a wordless question. Spock nods eagerly. Kirk grins devilishly, beckoning him with the curl of his finger. Spock leaps down from the stage and runs as soon as his feet hit the floor. The air rushes past, taking him back to when he would run with _I-Chaya_ through the grand halls of their estate back on Vulcan. He bounces on his feet when he feels Kirk’s hands grip his hips, and the man presses up, lifting him high in the air.

The gasp from the surrounding crowd is audible even over the loud music. Spock spreads his arms wide, arches his back, and, as illogical as it may be, pretends he’s flying. With Kirk’s strong arms below him, the cheering filling his ears, and the fiery energy flowing into him from everyone in the room, he believes for a moment he is.

Kirk then bends his elbows, bringing him back down. His body slides against him on the descent until his feet touch the floor. The sheen of sweat on the man before him shimmers in the golden sunshine and their chests heave in ragged breaths.

“I’m so proud of you,” Kirk murmurs ardently before pressing his lips firmly to his.

Exhilaration bubbles up Spock’s throat in a laugh, and he hugs Kirk tightly around his neck. He plants a hidden kiss behind the man’s ear before pulling away. The others around them keep dancing, hips swaying and rolling to the music. Laughter and cheers echo through the room. He spots Uhura and Stonn off to the side. He cannot hear what is being said despite his sensitive Vulcan ears, but remorse is blatant on Stonn’s face. Uhura smiles at him, expressing everything in just one look and a reassuring caress on his hand. He returns her smile with a small one of his own before Nurse Chapel slips in to steal Uhura away, disappearing into the churning crowd. Kirk spins him around as the last notes plays.

The laughter and cheers die away and the ballroom begins to quiet. In the absence of music, the excitement slowly dissipates. The young Vulcans mixed in the throng glance around nervously, unsure what to do. His mother’s face is streaked heavily with tears.

“Solen!” Sarek’s voice is like an explosion in the silence, resonating in the very marble of the room.

All eyes turn to him. Spock and Kirk loosen their embrace slightly in surprise. The director startles, looking up from his dance-induced trance. Sarek’s dark eyes are glued to Spock and Kirk in the crowd, his face set like stone.

“I...have no words to describe what we all have just experienced...what we’ve _felt_ …,” he states steadily, glancing at the director. “But the marriage is off.”

A loud gasp ripples through the room, followed by agitated, hushed whispers.

Solen rises from his seat.

“Off?” he repeats heatedly. “What of our negotiations, Sarek? What of your son’s prophecy?”

Sarek gives a soft smile, and Spock’s eyes widen considerably.

“The universe is significantly more efficient in carrying out her wishes than we presume to be, director,” Sarek answers. “I am sure you will agree that there are powers at play here much greater than our own. You saw it. You felt it.”

The director nods thoughtfully, mulling over the performance in his mind.

“I did, indeed.”

He sighs, looking down at his daughter before returning his attention to Sarek.

“The marriage is off.”

The room erupts in cheers. Spock grabs the back of Kirk’s neck and pulls him into a deep kiss. He fears his heart may stop from the sheer joy surging through him. Another song begins to play, eliciting more cheers and bodies sway eagerly to the beat. Sarek and Amanda venture into the churning sea of dancers to Spock and Kirk in the middle of the room. Spock smirks when Kirk straightens suddenly, drawing back his shoulders and raising his chin to greet his parents.

“Ambassador,” he says, displaying the Ta'al in respect. “Madam.”

His father’s eyebrows drop low as he considers the man. His mother’s blue eyes gleam brilliantly at his side, her face beaming.

“That was quite the performance,” Sarek states flatly.

“He gets it from me,” Amanda interjects with a smile.

Spock and Kirk glance at each other, both suppressing the grins threatening their lips. Sarek gives her a sidelong glance before continuing.

“Captain, I…” he pauses, his eyes flickering to Spock. “I love my son deeply…It is only logical to cherish those who you consider precious…”

Spock’s heart flutters at the admission, knowing how difficult it must be so say those words.

“As such, I will not allow him to be harmed in any way; do you understand?” he says sternly. “Or shall I remind you that a Vulcan’s strength is equivalent to three-times that of an average human male?”

“Sarek!” Amanda hisses.

Kirk swallows nervously, and Spock chuckles.

“He means well, Captain,” his mother adds quickly.

“Well, I assure both of you that I have every intention of mating your son,” Kirk pauses and a blush creeps along his cheeks when he realizes how his words might of come across. “I mean, I intend to be his mate—if he also wishes it.”

Spock reaches down to lace his fingers in his.

“I do,” he replies softly.

 The dancers around them hoot and holler as shoulders sway and hips roll. Amanda leans in to give Spock a hug, and for the first time, he wraps his arm around her small frame, squeezing her gently. She kisses his cheek before then pulling Kirk into a hug.

“Thank you,” Spock hears her whisper to him in spite of the thumping music.

She kisses Kirk’s cheek as well before stepping back to Sarek’s side. His father lifts his hand, fingers parted into the Ta'al. Both Spock and Kirk mirror the gesture.

“We’ll see you two later!” Amanda yells over the increasingly loud music, pulling Sarek deeper onto the dance floor.

“Do you know how long it has been since we’ve danced, my love?” Spock’s mother asks his father.

“Too long, _ashayam_ , too long.”

They disappear into the sea of dancers. Spock smiles after them then turns back to Kirk as the man slips his arms around his waist.

“ _t'nash-veh yel, t'nash-veh aikum, heh ek' t'nash-veh khio'ri,_ ” Kirk murmurs just loud enough for him to hear.

Spock gapes at him.

“You lied! You can still speak Vulcan!” he accuses.

Kirk bites his bottom lip, grinning from ear to ear.

“I never said anything to the contrary, _ashayam_.”

Spock narrows his eyes at him, but the severe expression doesn’t last long.

“ _I ashaya du, t’hy’la._ ”

Kirk leans in, pressing his lips gently to his.

“ _heh I ashaya du, t'nash-veh t’hy’la._ ”


	20. Chapter 20

It is a gorgeous day—an absolutely gorgeous day. The golden sun shines bright and warm where it slips through the broad green leaves of the trees and glitters on the nearby lake. Sounds of birds chirping happily, children laughing, and music playing fill the air. Kirk inhales deeply the scent of blooming flowers, thick and sweet. Yes, it is a day like no other, but every day with Spock seems like that.

Kirk strolls down the stone pathway toward where Spock is kneeling by a fresh flowerbed, up to his elbows in dark, damp soil. He smiles at the pointed tips of his pale green ears poking up out of the soft, flowing waves of his dark, growing hair. His smile widens when the Vulcan glances up, returning his grin. He rises gracefully to his feet, pulling off his gloves as he nears.

“Hello, _ashayam_ ,” Spock greets him with a deep kiss.

“Hello, _ashal-veh_ ,” he murmurs back and chuckles as he wipes a smear of dirt on his cheek. “The gardens look wonderful.”

The Vulcan turns to inspect his work, beaming with pride. Months ago, he personally undertook the mission to expand the gardens on the grounds from their tiny, underappreciated spaces, adding a large variety of new, exotic plants he knew would thrive in this climate.

“I suppose you could say that I have _a green thumb_ ,” Spock states with a smirk.

Kirk gapes at him in feigned shock.

“Was that a _joke_ , Mr. Spock?” he gasps, looping his arms over the Vulcan’s shoulders. “The _scandal!_ ”

He buries his face into the crook of Spock’s neck, attacking the newly discovered ticklish area with kisses and nips until Spock’s laughing loudly, and he grabs his hair gently to pull his head away. The Vulcan then presses his lips firmly to his, licking into his mouth with an eager tongue.

It all still seems like a dream. Soon after that fateful dance almost a two years ago, Spock, apparently very perturbed by something Mudd did in his absence, began digging into the man’s affairs. His investigation uncovered a sizable gambling debt to an Orion dealer, and Spock may or may not have tipped him off to Mudd’s whereabouts. He met with Mudd one afternoon and returned with open offer from the man to purchase Belaar _and_ Lithios for a fraction of what the properties are worth.

Kirk had enough in savings from his time in Bajor and the Univerity of Betazed to cover most of the cost, but it still fell a little short. He could barely contain his shock when they traveled to Vulcan to finalize their bond, and Spock’s parents gave them the difference.

“My wife tells me that it is customary on Earth to give a gift when couples marry,” Sarek started with Amanda’s forefinger and middle finger wrapped around his. “Consider this a wedding gift to my son and his _t’hy’la_.”

But they didn’t just want to run a vacation resort, no; they wanted to do something more. A few months after the sale was finalized, Spock suggested a program of sorts for children across the galaxy, especially those on Vulcan.

He envisioned a place where children from all planets and backgrounds could come together and learn about each other and themselves. Kirk remembers his eyes welling up as he described the concept.

“Infinite diversity in infinite combinations,” Spock stated. “It’s a place to belong.”

When Kirk pulls away, his mouth is pulled into a silly smile.

“ _I ashaya du, t'nash-veh t’hy’la_ ,” he says quietly.

A lock of dark hair falls onto Spock’s forehead and his breath brushes hot against his cheeks.

“ _heh I ashaya du, t'nash-veh t’hy’la_.”

And he kisses him again.

“Hey, you two!”

They both turn to see Uhura and Chapel coming up the pathway, arm in arm. The large swell of Chapel’s stomach gives her some difficulty while walking, but McCoy recommended light activity, so it was a common sighting for the two to travel together in the course of Uhura’s duties as the Chief of Staff.

“Hello, Nyota,” Kirk greets and gives her cheek a peck, Spock doing the same. “And Christine, you look as radiant as ever!”

She huffs a laugh as Kirk also kisses her cheek.

“I’m the size of a starship, Jim, but nice try,” she reprimands lightheartedly.

“A very radiant starship.”

She gives him a playful swat on the chest.

“How much longer now?” Spock inquires as Kirk steps back to his side.

The Vulcan brings his hand to his lower back, stroking his skin gently under his shirt.

“Any day now,” Uhura gushes, caressing Chapel’s stomach lovingly. “But her due date is next week.”

She leans in to seal her wife’s lips in a soft kiss.

“And then we’ll have a baby girl.”

They gaze at each other for a moment longer before Uhura turns her attention back to Kirk and Spock.

“Oh! I wanted to ask you if you’ve seen the two new helmsmen I hired last week?” she asks. “Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov? I wanted to go over the upcoming flight schedules, but I can’t seem to find them anywhere.”

Kirk and Spock exchange a glance, blushes turning Kirk’s cheeks a light shade of pink and Spock’s sage green.

“Have you checked the boat house?” Kirk suggests.

Uhura scrunches her eyebrows together in thought.

“No, actually, I haven’t,” she mutters, then turns to Chapel. “It’s not much farther, my love; we can go see if they’re there.”

Chapel nods and they start down the path again, but this time towards the boathouse along the boardwalk.

“Nyota,” Kirk calls after her, and she looks over her shoulder. “Maybe give a little warning before you open the door.”

She stiches her eyebrows together again, but her confusion clears away on her face when she understands what exactly he’s telling her.

“Boys!” she curses, and then she and Chapel giggle as they continue on the pathway.

Kirk looks up at Spock.

“Shall we go check on the children?”

“Yes.”

They walk, hand in hand, along another stone pathway toward the great meadow between Belaar and Lithios. One large group of children weaves through the tall, soft grass and the forest of wildflowers dotting the clearing, laughing and running and dancing while another group produces the music. Another group sits with Janice in a circle as she instructs them how to make flower crowns from the wildflowers.

Many of the children come from planets with harsh environments, and this time in the early afternoon is reserved especially for them to spend time outdoors and enjoy the sunshine and the green grass. They cheer and holler as Kirk and Spock approach. A few of them rush up to them, grasping Spock by both hands.

“We’ve been practicing our dances, Mr. Spock!” one small Andorian girl shouts happily.

“Yeah! You want to see?”

“Will you come dance with us, Mr. Spock?”

Spock chuckles and glances over his shoulder at him. Kirk smiles wide and motions with his hands for the children to take him away. The Vulcan allows them to lead him into the throng of dancing children and joins in their festivities. Kirk watches them circle around him playfully like elves around a giant tree moving their small bodies jovially to the music played by the other children. The familiar ache swells in his chest, making his heart squeeze until it feels like it may burst.

A crunch of grass next to him is his only warning before McCoy comes to his side, carrying two small teacups of Vulcan spice tea.

“Bones,” Kirk greets him warmly, taking the offered cup from him. “Thank you.”

He sips the hot amber liquid and moans softly as the cinnamon burns pleasantly in his throat.

“Music sounds great,” McCoy compliments, taking a sip from his own cup.

“You like Samba music?”

“Don’t look at me all surprised. You should be surprised that _he_ knows what it is!”

He gestures at Spock with his cup.

“Nyota teaches the music classes, Bones; remember?” Kirk explains with an arched eyebrow. “Spock and I teach dance.”

“Still…”

There’s a short pause, and McCoy says:

“You know, if you had told me two years ago that you and the hobgoblin were going to start a camp for children—a successful one at that—I would have committed you to a hospital.”

Kirk smiles at him and takes another sip.

“Ambassador Sarek informs us that our programs have had an overwhelmingly positive impact on the children of Vulcan; he says it has made them more in-tune with their emotions to where they can better identify them and channel them into more creative and productive endeavors,” Kirk tells him. “Director Solen has expressed interest in a program for his students at the academy. Spock and I are meeting with him and his apprentice next week to work out the details.”

“With those smiles I see out there, I’m not surprised in the slightest,” McCoy says with a wide grin. “By the way, who is the director’s apprentice? Is it that Stonn kid?”

Kirk shakes his head.

“His daughter, T’Pring.”

“Ah; well, it’s only _logical_ that his daughter be his apprentice. Why didn’t he think of that before?”

Kirk shrugs and takes another sip of his tea, watching a small Talarian boy roll around in the grass. There’s another long pause.

“Have you ever seen a flower bloom, Bones?” Kirk asks, breaking the silence.

McCoy looks down in thought.

“Well, Jim, I’ve certainly had my fare share of lookin’ at flowers, but no, I can’t say that I’ve actually watched one bloom.”

“I have.”

McCoy follows his line of sight to Spock as the Vulcan dances around while holding the tiny hands of a Halkan boy and an Osaarian girl, smiling wide and laughing until his eyes crinkle at the corners. He smirks and takes a sip of tea. They watch the dancing in companionable silence for a few moments before Kirk feels a tug at the hem of his shirt. He looks down at a small Vulcan girl with pointed ears popping out from her long hair.

“I made this for you, Mr. Kirk,” she lisps slightly, lifting a flower crown made of large baby pink blossoms.

Kirk crouches until he’s at eye level with her, bending his head down, and she gently places it on top.

“How do I look?”

“Pretty!” she giggles sweetly, her dark eyes shimmering. “I made one for Mr. Spock, too!”

She produces another crown of tiny violet and turquoise flowers.

“Would you like to give it to him?” Kirk questions.

She shakes her head.

“No, you can give it to him. I have to make one for Nyota, now!”

The girl hands him the crown before spinning around and running back to her circle with Janice. Kirk rises to his feet.

“Cute,” McCoy compliments, glancing up at the pink flowers circling his head.

“MR. KIRK! MR. KIRK! COME DANCE!”

Kirk turns to the uproar. The children continue to dance around while beckoning him to join. Spock gazes at him with a wide smile.

“I’ll take that,” McCoy says and takes the empty cup from his hand. “It sounds like you have a job to do!”

Kirk chuckles, leaving McCoy at the side of the clearing to join the children, eliciting cheers as he reaches them. He walks to Spock in the middle.

“You look lovely, _ashayam_ ,” Spock tells him.

Kirk lifts the other crown.

“Saya made one for you, too.”

He reaches up and nestles it gently on the soft waves of Spock’s hair. The points of his ears poke out from his head slightly under the weight, and the colors perfectly complement the purple eye shadow Janice convinced him to experiment with.

“You’re adorable.”

Spock leans in to seal his mouth in a deep kiss.

“EEEWWW!”

The kiss is broken by their laughter. The Vulcan then whips around.

“Oh, yeah?!” he shouts playfully, crouching down and lifting his hands into claws. “Now I’m going to have to get you!”

He roars and the children scatter in squeals and laughter. Kirk follows suit.

“We’re gonna get ya’!” he bellows and lumbers forward after them.

This is it. This is home. Nowhere in all his travels of the universe has he felt so loved, so at peace. And that feeling is even more potent in the nights he and Spock sneak away to the studio, their bodies moving and swaying to the music, feeling his heart beat against his hand at his side and the flow of their bond between them.

Yes—finally—this is it. This is where they are meant to be—where they were always meant to be.


	21. *Bonus Chapter!*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pon Farr!!

“Fuck yes, just like that, Spock! Yes! Just like that!”

Kirk grips the wooden headboard, bracing himself against Spock’s incredibly strong thrusts. He arches his back and whimpers as he manages to take him deeper. Sweat drips hot and slick down his back as the sweltering Vulcan air burns in his lungs. He gasps when he feels Spock’s tongue drag up his spine, catching the droplets in his mouth.

_Pon farr_. That is what Spock called it when it was first mentioned before their bond had been finalized.

_“It is only fair to you as my mate to know of this beforehand,” Spock tells him, his dark eyes downcast. “It is a thing no out-worlder may know except those very few who have been involved. A Vulcan understands, but even we do not speak of it among ourselves. It is a deeply personal thing. It is pon farr; the time of mating, Jim.”_

_“I think we’ve already made it past that threshold, Spock,” Kirk replies with a smirk. “Or did you forget this morning?”_

_“This is not the same thing, ashayam.”_

_Kirk’s smile falls from his face at the shame and unease exuding from his t’hy’la as thick as Terran molasses. He takes Spock’s hand in his, channeling as much reassurance and love into the touch as he can._

_“Nothing you could ever tell me would change my love for you, ashal-veh,” he whispers, kissing his knuckles. “Please tell me what is troubling you.”_

_Spock sighs heavily, glancing up, his dark eyes clouded with worry._

_“As you know, Vulcans are able to mate at any time they choose, but one aspect of our…biology…is that at an interval of seven years, we feel the urge to mate. We are compelled and utterly consumed by it. The pon farr…it is a time when our logic is ripped from us completely and our primal instincts are laid bare. We are overtaken by the plak tow and must mate within a span of eight days or die.”_

_He glances up again when Kirk squeezes his hands._

_“In the beginning, Vulcans killed to acquire a mate. This time is the reason Vulcans are bonded together at a young age,” he continues. “The effects of the pon farr are transmitted through the bond and the mate is also consumed by it, regardless of telepathic abilities or species. It is possible that my half-human blood will spare me this agony, but there is equally the possibility it will not. This is why you must know…before you commit to be my mate.”_

_Kirk takes a moment to process the information given to him before he looks up. Spock stares at him intently while waiting for his answer._

_“We will face the challenge together, my love, just as we always have. I am, and always will be, yours.”_

_And he seals his mouth in a kiss._

Kirk cries out desperately as Spock thrusts into him again, the flared ridges of his hard cock catching on the ring of his entrance. Spock then wraps his arm around his middle and pulls him against his chest. Kirk leans his head back onto his shoulder as the Vulcan drives up into him, fluid gushing and flowing down his thighs. Spock curls his fingers around his aching cock, still covered in the remains of his most recent release, pumping his hand in time with his hips. They had been going for what seems like days, and with the fire engulfing him from the inside, Kirk feels he could easily go for days more. Thank the gods for those mystery capsules.

_“Here,” grumbles McCoy while shoving a small bottle into his palm. “Don’t ask me where I got them. Take one when he starts showing signs and every morning afterward until it passes. I want you back in one piece.”_

_Kirk inspects the neon yellow capsules and smirks._

_“Spock’s mother has been through this before—a few times, in fact—and she seems fine. I think the pills are unnecessary, Bones.”_

_A light blush darkens McCoy’s cheeks, and his blue eyes shift uncomfortably._

_“She’s the one that recommended them.”_

_A long pause._

_“Oh.”_

Kirk moans as the electricity surges through him. His back slides easily against his mate with the sweat pouring down his skin. He raises an arm behind him and tries unsuccessfully to tangle his fingers in Spock’s long locks. He turns his head to press his lips to his, scratching against his dark beard, and the Vulcan eagerly swallows him down, licking into his mouth like a man gasping for air. His hole tightens, eliciting a low growl from Spock, as he continues to stroke his cock in his long fingers.

“Fuck, I love feeling your cock inside me,” Kirk murmurs against his mouth. “You like fucking my hole, Mr. Spock?”

The Vulcan answers with a sharp bite to his shoulder, and his thick ridges drag inside his velvety heat as he drives into him. Kirk groans shamelessly, arching his back from his chest, making him sink down lower onto Spock’s lap. He knew this was an unnerving time for his _t’hy’la_ even though the effects on the Vulcan were not quite as severe as Spock was expecting, but, gods, he can’t help himself. He loves the purely primal drive flowing into him through their bond and the possessiveness of his desperate touch. He fucking _loves_ it, though he would never say it out loud. But Spock knows. He knows everything.

Spock then releases his cock and grasps the back of his neck, forcing his head down to the damp linen sheets, his ass in the air. The Vulcan pulls out with a slick pop, making Kirk whine painfully at the loss. He is quickly relieved, however, when he feels his tongue dip into his loose hole.

“Oh, fuck, Spock!” he groans into the mattress, his hands clinging to the sheets.

Spock kneads the fleshy mounds of his ass, spreading him wide to give him better access to his entrance. He buries his face into him, licking and biting until Kirk is a writhing mess. He then comes back up and drapes his body over his back, his hand gripping tightly at his hip, and thrusts forward, plunging with a slick sound into his wet heat. The Vulcan sets a punishing pace, pounding relentlessly into Kirk’s pliant ass. Whimpering and mewling, the room is filled with the sounds spilling from Kirk’s throat. He nearly faints when Spock hits the small bundle of nerves deep inside.

“Yes, Spock, right there! Right there!” he cries, pushing back to meet each thrust.

Spock growls low in his throat and picks up speed as his hole flutters around him. His stomach tightens deliciously with each stroke. Spock’s fingers clamp down on his hips, and Kirk relishes the strength holding him there as his mate takes what he needs.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he gasps into the sheets.

A solid hit to the very center of his being, and like a detonation, white-hot electricity rips through his body. He screams into the mattress, clinging to the sheets for dear life as Spock continues to pound into him, prolonging the roaring fire consuming him. Another thrust, and the Vulcan topples over the edge with him with a loud roar.

Panting and gasping for air, Kirk slowly comes back down from his high. He groans as Spock pulls out of him and a stream of violet and blue fluid spills down his legs. After a brief moment, the fire smoldering in his belly after his release flares once more, kindled by his overwhelming need to be close to his mate. He slowly rises up from the bed, his arms shaking, and rolls around to face his _t’hy’la_.

Spock is sitting back in the sheets, cross-legged and head down. His clenched fists tremble on his knees, and violet fluid flows over the flared ridges of his still hard cock. Kirk crawls to him and climbs into his lap. Spock immediately wraps his arms around him and looks up, his dark eyes clouded with intense desire and pain. Kirk positions the head of his cock at his entrance and sinks down to the hilt. The Vulcan’s face relaxes in an instant, and Kirk gazes down into pure bliss.

“Don’t fight it, _ashayam_ ; I’m here,” he murmurs into Spock’s ear as he grinds his hips down. “ _I'm la', t'nash-veh ashaya_.”

Spock whimpers and buries his face into the crook of his neck, nipping gently and hugging him close. Kirk runs his fingers through the dark strands of his long hair, his disheveled bun looking nothing like the elegant knot he entered with. He moves his hips in deep, languid motions, savoring every inch of his Vulcan inside him.

“ _I ashaya du_.”

Spock lifts his head, his glazed eyes glimmering brightly. Smiling gently, Kirk tucks a few of the runaway strands behind his ear. His fingers trace the shell of his pointed-ear and down his jawline until he reaches his harry chin. He presses his lips softly against his.

“I am ready now, _ashal-veh_.”

Spock slowly lifts his hand, placing his fingers gently on his _qui'lari_. The Vulcan flows into him, and he into Spock, swirling and melding into one.

_Parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched, we are forever one…_

And the universe sings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (Art is my own :D )


End file.
